


The Talk to Me Project

by destielpasta, mtothedestiel



Series: The Talk to Me Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Angels, First Kiss, Human Castiel, Letters, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 50,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielpasta/pseuds/destielpasta, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtothedestiel/pseuds/mtothedestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel sets off on his own to attempt to gather the fallen angels.  Meanwhile, Dean remains in the bunker, attempting to care for an ailing Sam and deal with the loss of his angel.  Castiel leaves Dean a way to stay in touch.  These are their messages to each other during their separation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to my readers, old and new! I'm reaching out to you to share a new collaborative fic project that I've recently begun. My co-writer and I are going to begin posting on Tumblr every Tuesday and Friday. There will be regular updates, bonus scenes, and art by yours truly! We are so excited and we want to share our story with you! Thanks for listening and I hope you follow us on the link below!

 

 

 

 

 

“I have to go, Dean.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“I want to hear one good reason. I can wait.”

Dean fired off his responses like bullets, each one louder and more punctuated than the last. Castiel sighed and turned away from him, unwilling to study the look of betrayal on his face for an extended amount of time. He flexed and curled his fingers, the tension providing some relief; just one of the nervous habits he had picked up since his fall from grace.

Dean continued. “I thought we agreed that the best plan was to stick together. That’s it. No more flying off.”

“I _can’t_ fly away anymore.” Castiel said, his eyes fluttering closed in frustration, “I’ll be driving a car. A car you fixed for me. You said you didn’t want me to feel like a prisoner.”

Dean crossed the room to face Cas. “I wanted you to feel like you had a home here. That you _do_  have a home here.” His face fell and he planted his hands on his hips, looking down. “Is this about- Jesus Christ Cas. I’m not going to argue with you anymore. You do what you gotta do.” His voice was rough with exhaustion, but resigned. They had been arguing for what seemed like hours. With a shake of his head, Dean turned and walked out of the library towards the door to the outside.

“Dean!” Cas called, but the door had already slammed shut.

* * *

 

Dean was proud of himself for staying relatively sober these days. Unwanted or not, purgatory had done wonders for his once budding alcoholism. A fight like that could have turned into a whiskey binge followed by a one night stand with a bartender named Shirley in the good old days. Or he could have stumbled back to the bunker, eyes blurry and ready to throw punches. These days, he just tried to walk it off. The things fresh air could do.

Night had fallen in earnest by the time he got back to the bunker. The lights were dim in the quiet hallway as he walked down the hall to his bedroom, unbuttoning his outer shirt and slipping off his boots as he went. He wouldn't be happy about the mud in the hallway in the morning, but for now he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

Dean glanced over at Cas’s door next to his own. It was shut and the light was off; hopefully he was getting some sleep. A new day would change his mind.

He entered his own room, flipping on the light. A small package and a note sat in the middle of his bed, along with a cell phone placed carefully on the nightstand.

Cas’s cell phone.

His heart sank. Picking up the letter first, he read:

 

_Dean,_

_I’ve made my decision, and I hope you can forgive me for leaving again. By the time you get this I hope you are in better spirits than when we parted._

_I have to help my family. You of all people will understand this, I hope. I’ve played too many parts in the destruction of heaven, and I will put it right, even if I’m only a man now. I took with me a copy of the coordinates for every fallen angel that the bunker recorded. It would seem that they all fell in “clumps” in singular locations. I hope to find the fallen and see if we can form some semblance of unity and organization. I left another copy behind in case you and Sam need them._

_I also left behind the cell phone that you gave me. I know that there are other ways of tracking me that are more sophisticated, but carrying a portable GPS in my pocket isn’t wise for my current goals._

_Finally, the package I left is for you. It’s a journal. Unlike an ordinary journal, however, this one has an Enochian symbol carved on its cover by my own hand. The symbol is incomplete, its counterpart drawn on another journal I have in my possession. Whatever you write in your journal, I will be able to see. The same goes for mine to you. Angels used to use this in Heaven when they wanted to have a private conversation that wasn’t broadcasted on “Angel Radio.” The practice has long since been forbidden, but I imagine rules like that don’t apply anymore. It’s my hope that you will write to me, and let me know what is happening with you, Sam, and Kevin. I don’t want to cut off communication like I’ve done in the past._

_I know we didn’t part on the best terms. I only hope that you can understand why it is I have to do this. It’s better this way. And I have always been horrible at goodbyes, like you say._

_Your friend,_

_Castiel_

Dean sat frozen for a moment. After reading the letter through a second time, resisting the urge to tear it up and throw it in the furnace, he set it aside carefully and picked up the package. He tore off the newspaper wrappings to unveil a small leather-bound journal with the symbol Cas had spoken of carved in the cover. It was unlike any other Enochian symbol he had ever seen; all flowing lines that seemed to go unfinished.

He was no writer, but it wasn’t like he could just pray anymore.

* * *

 

 _CASTIEL GET BACK HERE YOU FUCKING_ MARTYR.   _YOU THINK I'M GONNA PLAY PEN PALS WITH YOU BECAUSE YOU CAN'T FUCKING FACE ME?!  YOU'RE WRONG. ~~YOUR~~ YOU’RE DEAD WRONG.   ~~YOU CANT~~    ~~I NEED~~  GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE._

_…_

_…_

_Cas?  Come on man it’s been two days.  If you’re not coming back at least let me know you’re alive.  Do you even know how to drive that car?_

_…_

_…_

_FINE YOU BASTARD.  WALK AWAY JUST LIKE ALWAYS.  HAVE FUN WITH YOUR ANGEL BUDDIES!  GO AHEAD IT’S NOT LIKE YOU HAVE ~~ME~~ A FAMILY HERE WORRYING ABOUT YOU.  FUCK YOU CAS.  Fuck you and  ~~you’re~~ your stupid diary._

_…_

_Jesus Cas.  At least tell me where you are.  Are you ok? Did you even take any cash with you? Are you eating? You have to do that kind of shit now, on your own.   Come on buddy, don’t do this. ~~Please Cas~~  I won’t get pissed.  Okay I’m totally gonna get pissed but  ~~I~~  we need to know you’re alright.  -Dean _

 

* * *

_Dean,_

_I apologize for my late response. I’m ashamed to say that while this was my idea, watching your words appear, angry as you are, was overwhelming. It’s not an excuse. But I am still learning to deal with these new… emotions I guess would be the word to use. Being a fallen angel is nothing compared to being a souled human. I don’t know if I’ll ever adjust._

_To answer your questions, yes, I do know how to drive this car. I recall having a fine teacher to “show me the ropes.” Please let Kevin know that I listen to the CD he made me every day while I drive, even though I know you wouldn’t approve of his music selections._

_As for the money inquiry, I couldn't take any more of yours or Sam's money. I plan to stay in my current location for a short while and have gotten a job washing dishes at a local Biggersons. They say I can have all the coffee I can drink for free. And a paycheck every two weeks. They seem to be taking my identity as fact for now._

_Am I ok? I suppose so. My days are long and filled with work and then my nights are taken up with searching for lost angels. You will be the first to know if I have any success._

_Give Sam my regards and keep me updated on his health. Tell Kevin I am sorry I won’t be able to help him with his tablet translations for now._

_Your friend,_

_Castiel_

 

     


	2. Chapter 2

  _ ~~ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!~~_ _~~That’s all you have to say me~~    ~~You CAN’T just~~   Fine.  Okay.  If this is how you want things, then okay. _

_Hey Cas.  I’m glad you’re not dead, though I’m kinda peeved that you let Kevin make you a mixtape and not me.  Whatever.  Better not be any Nickleback on that freakin’ thing.  If you give me an address I could send you some tapes myself, or some clothes or anything you need.  Did you even take anything with you?  Where are you sleeping?  Christ, I feel like a parent whose kid ran away from home._

_I don’t like you on your own out there Cas.  We don’t know shit about these angels.  They could have all their mojo, like Lucifer.  Hell, even without mojo you managed to give me a good fight when I tried to get you back in the bunker.  We should be doing this together. ~~If Sam wasn’t still in rough shape I’d already be~~  Just…be careful.  You’re only human now._

_We’re still hanging tight for the most part, waiting for the falling angels shit to hit the fan.  Kevin’s still giving me the silent treatment.  He’s pissed that you left.  I can’t really blame him, seeing as I’m even more pissed that you left.  For some reason he thinks I should have been able to stop you, like you aren’t a grown fucking adult.  Anyways, he asked me if we could make pancakes for breakfast this morning, so maybe he’s getting over himself._

_Sam tried to go for a jog today.  It’s probably the first time he’s left the bunker by himself since ~~you fell~~ the angels fell.  It was cute, he was all excited and shit.  He made it about a half mile before he had to come back inside and lay down.  Luckily I followed him or he would’ve been passed out on the side of the hallway.  Poor guy slept for four hours after that.   ~~I’m worried~~    ~~He’s not getting any better~~   He’s about the same as you left him.  He’s worried about you._

_I’m no good at this dear diary crap Cas.  You should be here._

_-Dean_

 

* * *

 

_Hello Dean,_

_I’m glad to hear that you’re ok, and perhaps you are starting to forgive me? No? I understand. Either way. Our relationship has never been simple._

_I’m glad to hear that Sam isn’t getting any worse; though I would rather he was getting better. I wish I could heal him. Helplessness is the worst part about being human for me._

_To answer your question about clothes, I thought you would have noticed by now, but I did take a few articles of your clothing before I left. Just a few flannels and jeans, I hope you don’t mind. Sam’s clothes proved to be too big and Kevin’s had strange designs on them so… I left behind my coat. It’s not climate appropriate for this time of year and I fear that it’s too recognizable. I do miss its familiar weight but I know it’s in safe keeping._

_Still no sign of any angels in this area. I plan to move on if I don’t find anything in the next few days. I’m not discouraged. It makes sense that they would wander from the place they fell._

_I miss your pancakes._

_Don’t misunderstand me, I’m grateful that the manager at biggerson’s allows me to eat breakfast before my shift starts, but these pre-made, frozen  pucks thrown on the griddle are… soggy reminders of how far away I am, if you will excuse my poor metaphor._

_My shift is starting now._

_Your friend,_

_Castiel_

Later that night, Cas pulled out the journal while he sat in his dark car in an abandoned Target parking lot. Upon his shift ending, he had driven aimlessly before stopping to check the journal for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening. He had no leads on the angels. This place was a dead end and he had to move on.

_Home?_

His newly developed subconscious was trying to nudge him back to Kansas and he thought that it might be safer to leave the journal closed that night. He reclined his seat back and tried to find the most comfortable position to sleep in. Before shutting his eyes, he cast his eyes around, knowing that his safety was almost assured by him being male and of somewhat solid build. Still, he knew what could be waiting in the dark.

 

* * *

 

**May 20, 2013: The Headquarters of the Men of Letters**

Castiel found waking up tedious, at best.

Eyes snapping open, he immediately sat up, blood pounding in his ears and visions of falling angels and burning wings swimming in front of his eyes. He pressed his palms over his eyes. One by one he checked off his safety symbols, a trick taught to him by a sympathetic Sam. Bed, check. Bedroom, check. Light, on. He was in the Men of Letters bunker. Not in whatever hell his recent dreams had concocted for him.

His heart slowed as he pulled back the covers, his hair immediately rising from the chill. Five days into humanity. Only a lifetime to go.

"Cas! Come get some breakfast if you want it!" Dean’s voice called through the closed door.

Cas grumbled to himself in response, his stomach grumbling back. He stumbled around his room, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt without checking if they were inside out or not. His bared feet slapped loudly on the concrete floor, but he couldn’t care because they carried him towards a delicious new smell. Sweet, heady, and rich, he followed it into the kitchen where Dean was busy making breakfast.

Cas stood back silently for a moment, watching as Dean sang along softly to the classic rock station on their scratchy radio. He wore a worn t-shirt and a pair of grey pajama pants, his hair still tousled from sleep. He moved around the kitchen with ease, flipping something in a skillet while checking on something else in the oven and getting plates ready on the breakfast counter. A small smile played around his mouth as the song reached the chorus.

"Whooooo are you-- Jesus Cas!" He almost dropped a pan of bacon as he noticed Cas standing there. "Make yourself known!"

Cas walked in fully now, sitting down at the breakfast bar. "Apologies." His voice was rough.

He looked at the stove. Pancakes sizzled in the iron skillet as Dean took a tray of bacon out of the oven.

Dean caught Cas looking. "Thought we would celebrate. Have a proper breakfast for once."

"Celebrate what?"

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. Being alive. Being all together for once."

Cas nodded, unwilling to question celebration of something so seemingly mundane. Dean flipped the pancakes once more and grabbed some silverware from the drawer.

Through a fog, Cas remembered the events from the night before. Sam had been vomiting all night, head bent over the stainless steel toilet as Dean and Kevin engaged in a screaming match that ended with Kevin slamming his bedroom door shut. Cas remained out of the way, bringing Sam ginger ale and organizing Kevin’s pile of tablet translations, in a foil to his last confrontation with the young prophet.

"Where are Sam and Kevin?" He asked.

"Sam's still sleeping it off. Kevin won't come out. I'll save them some for later." His tone remained light, and he stacked three pancakes on his spatula and flipped them onto the plate in front of Cas. Immediately, his mouth began to water as Dean slid a less-than-modest pile of bacon next to them.

He had watched Sam and Dean eat stacks of pancakes and mountains of bacon at countless diners across the country. Never had he actually wondered if they tasted good or not.

The smell alone.

"You know, Cas, they're made for eating not staring."

Cas squinted at Dean. "I'm aware." Nevertheless, he carefully watched as Dean slathered his own pancakes with butter before generously pouring maple syrup over everything, bacon included. He mimicked him exactly.

When he took his first bite, he swore he saw stars. Moaning involuntarily, he shoved more into his mouth, stacking pancakes dripping with butter with bites of syrup-slathered bacon. He knew he must look obscene, teeth clacking and gulping sounds prevalent in the silence of the mostly sleeping bunker.

Dean watched him while slowly eating his own. "Good?"

Cas nodded wordlessly, his mouth still full. Dean smiled. "Yeah, haven't made pancakes since... well since we were last at Bobby's house I think. Saw that Emeril guy cook bacon in the oven on that damn food network Sam's been falling asleep to, figured I'd give it a try- It's definitely less painful."

Cas swallowed, reaching for the coffee that had appeared in front of him. "Everything is wonderful."

Dean smiled, a hint of a blush creeping up his neck. "Nah- s'just pancakes man. I just thought- I want you to know that being human does have a few perks, breakfast being damn near close to the top."

Cas smiled, finally feeling somewhat settled. He felt light but grounded, his feet firmly planted on the supported beam of the stool. Dean’s wide smile helped matters as well.

They finished eating in a comfortable silence, forks clinking on plates. It had been a cold spring, and the bunker remained cold with it. Cas shivered, sipping the hot coffee.

When they finished, Dean picked up their plates and put them in the sink full of soapy water. Cas started to help, grabbing his coffee mug but Dean shook his head. "Don't worry about it, I got this. Go get dressed, we gotta run an errand."

"Where?"

Dean started to suds up the skillet. "Well, if we're gonna be here for a while, we'll need a project. He turned around to look at him, "Which means _you're_ gonna learn how to drive."

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel enjoys a particularly human activity before running into what brought him on his mission in the first place.

_Cas…did you take my new flannel?  The blue one with the red stripes and the super soft cuffs that don’t rub when I roll up the sleeves? ~~You totally did you little weirdo~~   If you did, just don’t get Biggersons grease on it or something, or I’m takin’ it out on your hide when you get back._

_Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doin’, dodging all my address questions.  I’m not gonna try to come drag you back by the hair ~~Like I had to with Sam that one time~~.  Just don’t…I don’t know, don’t be sleeping in your car or shit like that.  You’re not as immortal as you used to be.  Trust me, that shit leaves crick in your neck that never goes away.  You didn’t forget how to put gas in that junker, did you?  Let me know and I can walk you through it._

_Don’t worry about your coat, I stashed it in my closet.  I’ll keep it from getting any more smelly or gross than it already is. ~~I kinda like having it~~    ~~It reminds me~~  _

_Look, our…relationship, it doesn’t have to be complicated.  It wouldn’t be so complicated if you would just stay in one goddamned place long enough to let me show you.  You know what I said in that crypt and just ‘cause we’re not in a life or death situation right now doesn’t make it less true.  If you only left because you felt bad you couldn’t heal Sam, or help with the angel tablet, that’s dumb.  Those things aren’t why we want you back here._

_Also…you should try the french toast at biggerson’s instead of the pancakes.  They suck a lot less.  And drink some freakin’ orange juice or something.  You need vitamins now._

_-Dean_

Dean tucked the journal back in its place on the shelf, frustrated with his own mother-hen tendencies and Cas’s tendency to ignore them.  The guy doesn’t want to come back, fine.  Whatever.  Dean left the journal to check on his brother, with only a quick glance back at his closet, where a worn and frayed trenchcoat hung, tucked inside of one of Dean’s softer canvas jackets.  It was only because he was short on hangers, he told himself as he flicked off his light.  No other reason.

 

* * *

 

_I have been… ~~partooking~~ ~~pertekin~~ PARTAKING in your favorite pastime. I must say, it’s a lot easier to get ~~inibr~~ ~~inebat~~ drunk now that I can’t metabolize the alcohol so fast. _

_I’m leaving tomorrow. If there ever were angels here, they’re gone now! Or they heard I was coming and got out of here as fast as they could… wouldn’t blame them._

_You must tell me if it’s commonplace for a man to write in a ~~diary~~ journal while in a bar. The looks I’m getting… well they’re not the worst looks I’ve gotten I CAN say that. _

_…_

_The barkeepeR keeps spoutiNg off some NONsense about me being “cut ofF.” I tried to explain to him that WINCHESTERS can hold their liquor but he didn’t underStand the referEnce… i don’t know why i said it anyway. I’m not a winchester. I’m… not anyone._

 

 

__

_…_

_Dean… you have to know that she made me do It. she made me kill you probbly a thousandd times. my head… it wass so… fuzzy. But I didn’t want to do it. I could never hurt you… and I tried my best to resist her… I have hurt you though. I still do. i know youllll never forgive me but i only wish… I could explain it to you if was… I wish I was there with y—_

“Castiel?

Castiel. Through his haze he recognized his real name, spoken in full for the first time in weeks, and was thrust back into almost-sobriety. Snapping the journal shut, he spun around on the bar stool to face the voice.

It was a girl. A young one, no older than twelve or thirteen, if he guessed correctly. Her straight, sandy blond hair reached to her chin and her eyes were a soft brown against almost translucent pale skin. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her mouth a hard line.

“Hello brother.” She spoke again, her voice much deeper than a pre-adolescent girl’s should be.

Cas stood up, trying to ignore the way the room was spinning under his feet. He tried to see through the human façade, to his sister’s real face. His human eyes could only focus and unfocus however, and even that action was impeded by his present state.

 

 

 

__

“I-I’m sorry,” he rasped out, “I don’t recognize you.”

The girl nodded. “I heard the rumors.”

“Rumors?” He squinted, trying to block out the blinding light coming from headlights outside.

“That you were human now. The final piece in Metatron’s spell.” She held eye contact with him and Cas felt a strange, uncomfortable sensation at the back of his neck. He hadn’t spoken with an angel in a long time and no one held eye contact quite like an angel.

“That’s correct.” No use denying it now. “And you would be?”

“Ambriel.” She said, almost snapping to attention, “I served under you during our crusade through Egypt.”

 _Before or after I was dragged away by Naomi,_ he thought to himself.

“Hey buddy,” the bartender called over to them, “I don’t know how your friend got in, but no underage kids allowed. You both gotta leave.”

Castiel wasn’t drunk enough to pick a fight with a man that looked like he had seen a few wars of his own, so he nodded silently, grabbed the journal, and led Ambriel to the door. The smell of beer and sweat dissipated slightly but the sticky Louisiana humidity clung to his skin and hair, little different from the muggy bar interior. When he looked up, however, the sky was full of stars. The fogginess in his head began to clear, replaced with hot shame in his belly. They walked together in silence for a moment, Cas sneaking glances at Ambriel from the corner of his eyes. He didn’t know whether he should be afraid for his life or not. In his present state he didn’t care that much.

“I know you’ve been looking for me.” She spoke finally, “I’ve been watching you. You work at that… eating establishment.” 

Cas nodded once. “I don’t remember you, though. I wondered whether I would be able to recognize angels, now that I’m human. I guess not.”

“You may still be able to test that theory. I made myself invisible the whole time.” She explained.

Cas stopped, looking at her. Ambriel’s expression was flat. “You still have your grace?”

“It would seem so.”

Cas started to back away, his boots scraping on the sidewalk, then stood his ground. There was no way he could run. “Are you going to kill me?”

She held his gaze, an unreadable emotion flickering through her eyes. “You really don’t remember me?”

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head, “I don’t. Most of my angelic memory is lost, my brain can’t hold it all anymore.”

She sighed and looked away. “No matter. I am not here to kill you, I could never do that, even though you haven’t bestowed the same courtesy to our other brothers.”

Cas flinched, feeling his own shame burn at his face and ears.

 She ignored his obvious discomfort. “I have checked the area. I’m the only angel left here from this group of fallen, the rest seemed to have scattered.” she paused, “Can I ask a favor of you?”

“Of course!” Castiel cursed his drunken state from keeping him from doing what he had set out to do in the first place. “Anything.”

“This vessel, while strong, has not proven to be subtle while traveling alone. Twice I’ve been detained by the human police and have had to make a rather… loud escape. If I were traveling with someone who appears older, I could remain unnoticed.” She looked at him, expectant.

Her face appeared so young, but Castiel knew better now that he could look into her eyes. Upon a second inspection he realized her eyes weren’t brown, but hazel. The greens and blues woven in with the brown reminded him of Sam.

He didn’t know if he could trust her. But this was what he had set out to do and he couldn’t just back out now that he felt a twinge of homesickness. He pushed thoughts of Dean and Sam and homemade pancakes to the back of his mind.

“Yes.” He answered firmly. “I welcome your company. I’m hoping to move on tomorrow, and find more of us.”

She nodded once and lifted two fingers towards his forehead. “Name the place.”

“What? No,” He almost shouted, backing away from her hovering hand, “I mean, I appreciate the offer, but the safest way for us now is to drive. There’s a possibility that you could be tracked by using your grace. By demons or worse.”

She lowered her hand and continued walking. "I suppose you’re right.” They made their way to the parking lot silently. Castiel supposed he should have been surprised when Ambriel found his car without his help. Who knows how long she had been watching him.

They piled into the front seats. “We’ll depart in the morning. As soon as I… sleep it off.”

She nodded, not moving her eyes from his. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Um… would you mind… not staring at me?”

Wordlessly, she shifted her gaze to the windshield. _Angels,_ he thought to himself.

Before he drifted off into sleep, his drunkenness pulling him into oblivion, he remembered the journal with his unfinished letter to Dean. He picked it up, grateful that his only pen was still lodged inside, keeping his page. Sleepily, he wrote:

_Found an angel. Will explain more soon._

_Goodnight Dean_

 


	4. Chapter 4

_Cas?  What happened??_

_…_

_Goddammit Cas answer me!  Are you alright?_

_…_

_JFC Castiel you can’t do this to me again.  What happened with the angel?  Do they have mojo?  Do they know you?  Don’t leave me here wondering if_ _~~your~~ _ _you’re freaking alive._

 _I don’t like that you found an “angel” the fucking second you got toasted.  I don’t like that you got toasted period.  And we’re talkin’ about som_ _e of that shit you we’re spewin_ _’ back there ‘cause that’s exactly what it was._

 _Talk to me Cas, please.  Don’t make me wait here while you run off with the plot device and leave me wondering if you’re alive or dead or just never coming back.  I don’t know what some of this stuff you’re upset about even means.  I’m tryin’ here.  I want to understand.  What I don’t want is to lie here all night and wait for you to write back.  But that’s exactly what’s gonna happen here._ _~~Because I need~~ _ _~~‘Cause I’m scared that~~ _ _~~Because~~ _

_Don’t leave us out of this because you feel like you have to deal with it alone. Suffering and penance are not the same thing._

_Please don’t leave me behind again.  –Dean_

* * *

_Hello Dean,_

_Traveling has kept me away from writing. I apologize for making you worry, though I wish you wouldn’t. I realize that I am a new human, but I am not young in any sense. I have watched your kind and studied your habits and when I would like to get “toasted” I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t patronize me as if you have all ownership to my “rights of passage” into humanity. Inebriation isn’t sacred. You taught me that._

_The angel I encountered last night is a former fellow soldier named Ambriel. She still has her grace and with it all her “mojo,” as you would call it. I have advised her to keep her usage to a minimum so that we can remain hidden in plain sight. Her vessel is hardly inconspicuous, and she needs someone to travel with. I’ve chosen to trust her, for now. I don’t remember her from my millennia in heaven, but something tells me she has a story to tell. I owe her that trust. I can only assume that she is an innocent, reminiscent of all the thousands I slaughtered in heaven._

_I hope my report has been sufficient._

_\- Castiel_

* * *

 

**May 15, 2013: Outside the Headquarters of the Men of Letters**

“Cas?” Dean kept his voice low and his steps loud as he approached the recently fallen angel.  “Cas you should come inside.”

“Not until they’re all gone,” came the hoarse reply, “Not until I’ve seen them all.”

“Cas, you can’t-“ 

“I can.”  Castiel didn’t look down from the inky sky, where the fiery trails of falling angels still bled through like the afterglow of a fireworks display.  He’d been staring up at the wreckage of Heaven since they’d arrived back at the Men of Letters bunker, stepping out of the Impala calmly as Dean struggled to aid a fading Sam inside.  It had been forty minutes of hovering and ibuprofen and cold washcloths before Dean had realized that Cas hadn’t followed them inside.  A sick twist of anxiety had coiled in Dean’s gut as he thought maybe Cas had gone again, had just left without even a goodbye, but no, he was there, exactly where Dean left him.  Castiel stood, as stoic and angelic as ever, but his hands shook, and the shudder of breath that was the exclusively human. 

“C’mon man,” Dean tried again, “You… _we…_ people. They can’t stand outside all night.  Trust me, it’ll hurt in the morning.”

“Good,” Castiel’s voice was a shredded whisper.

“Hey-“ Dean laid a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and was rewarded with the sharp  _thud_  of the Impalas’ frame against his back as Castiel shoved him away, rough hands on his chest.  Castiel’s eyes widened in shock and fear.  He pressed a shaking hand against his throat for some reason, backing away from Dean like a spooked deer. 

“Dean, I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Dean reassured him, grimacing slightly.  Yup, that was gonna leave a few bruises.  He stepped forward, reaching out to Cas again, slowly, but the angel flinched away.

“Please,” Castiel begged, “Please…don’t touch me right now.”  He had his hand covering his neck again and Dean wondered just what the hell it was Metatron did to him.  Whatever it was, Dean thought venomously, the little bastard was going to pay.  Castiel was looking back to the sky, and Dean didn’t have to see the tremor in his friend’s shoulders to know that there were tears streaming down the former angel’s face. 

“I’m gonna head back inside,” Dean told Castiel’s back, “The door’s not locked.”

Castiel gave a barely perceptible nod, and with a sigh Dean returned to his brother’s side. 

It was early the next morning when Dean, nearly passed out in a kitchen chair, heard the soft open and shut of the heavy iron door, and Castiel’s muffled steps make their way across the threshold.  Dean’s eyes fluttered closed.  It was done.  The angels had fallen. 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Yeah, your report was sufficient.  For a soldier.  It’s not what you send to your family when their wondering if you’re alive.  But I guess soldier’s always been the easiest mode for you.  I tend to forget after everything we’ve…well. You’re an adult and it’s none of my goddamn business.  You won’t have to remind me again._

_If the angels still have power then I can get Sam and Kevin lookin’ for omens.  Miracles, disasters, meteor sightings.  I’ll let you know if we come up with anything, point you in the right direction.  A crapload of angels with all their mojo could be bad news for humanity._

_Be careful with this Ambriel chick.  If you don’t remember her she could just be yanking your chain.  I know you won’t fall for that one again Cas, but we’re all only human and sometimes we see what we want to see.  I want you to have an ally out there, but we’ve both been around too long to take anything at face value._

_Good luck.  Stay smart out there._

_-Dean_

* * *

 

_Ambriel has so far proven to be trustworthy. Travelling north._

_…_

_I just noticed a hummingbird near the window of the car. It’s the first time I’ve seen a hummingbird as a human. I never noticed how fast they can fly… It was there one moment and gone the next._

_…_

_I assume you have your hands full with caring for Sam. Or are on a hunt. Give my regards to everyone if you happen to glance at this._

_…_

_Hello Dean,_

_I have offended you. I’ve… hurt you ag_ _ain. You see, I’ve written_ _battle correspondence for thousands of years. Clear, concise reports with no room for flowery phrasing or… any self-expression at all for that matter. I have hindered myself by choosing this method of communication_ _between us as friends_ _. It’s just as easy for me as it is challenging._

 _You see, Dean, you say that you want to understand what I’m feeling, but the truth is that I don’t understand myself. Some mornings I wake up in such a rage, it covers my eyes in a fog and I c_ _an barely see. Some days I am_ _dead to the world and feel nothing. I haven’t figured out which is worse._

 _I need you to know that it isn’t your fault. It isn’t your weight to carry. I know your nature dictates you otherwise. If you must put your energy into others, I would advise you give it to your brother. He needs you right now._ _~~More than I~~ _ _~~I couldn’t ask~~ _ _I don’t want to take you away from him._

_If you wish to cease communication, I will understand._

_Your friend,_

_Castiel_

* * *

_Hey Cas,_

_I’m sorry.  I haven’t been tryin’ to ignore you I’m just…I’m tired.  I’m tryin’ to be the leader here, I’m tryin’ to act like I know what I’m doing, but it’s like Sammy’s thirteen again with the flu only he’s not getting any better ~~now~~  no matter how hard I try and Kevin…he’s, well, he’s acting like a nineteen year old kid whose mom got killed and who hasn’t got any promise that it’s all gonna end.  He’s not like me ‘n Sam, and I don’t want him to be, so I let him rail on me.  He should be angry.  We all should be, I’ve just been at this so long I honestly don’t know what I would do if it stopped._

_I feel like for the last year all ~~Iv’e~~ I’ve done is run around trying to keep everybody alive but even when I succeed I don’t feel like I’ve accomplished a goddamned thing.  I miss Purgatory sometimes, as miserable as we were in there at least when I killed something it stayed down and it got me one step  closer to finding you._

_Hehe…the other day we were all on the couch (Sam was wrapped up in blankets like a fuckin’ burrito, you shoulda seen it) we were watchin' some Steven Seagall movie and for some reason all I could fucking think about was the time you showed up on the hood of my car covered in nothin’ but bees.  I was giggling like an absolute lunatic and I tell you what, Sam thought I had finally cracked.  I just couldn’t handle it.  Do you even remember that? You probably don’t, but damn I wish I had snapped a picture.  I remember telling Sam and pretending I was all freaked out about it, but the truth was I laughed for fucking days.  It wasn’t long after that we got shot to Purgatory but let me tell you, some days that was the shit kept me going._

_I…when you showed up at the bunker, after the angels fell, there was a part of me that hoped we could have that back.  That doesn’t make any sense.  But do you know what I’m talking about?  It’s bizarre, but I was…I was relieved that you were human.  No more heaven.  No more mind control shit.  No more angels.  Maybe you’d be a little broken, but I could fix you.  We can always fix each other and then we could fix Sam, and maybe even Kevin, and then we could have that back.  Maybe we could laugh again, and have this one little weird domestic thing for a while.  I was excited.  But that wasn’t what you needed.  I should have known you ~~woudn’t~~ wouldn’t be happy to sit on the sidelines and make pancakes while people suffered.  That’s what I want.  If I could keep you and Sammy safe and just hide I would do it.  Screw the world.  We’ve done enough.  But that’s not who you are._

_That’s not ~~youre~~ your fault either Cas.  I shouldn’t put that on you.  You’ve gotta live your life the way you think is right.   ~~dont~~  Don’t worry about me.  Just keep writing.  I’ll be here, I promise._

_Dean_

* * *

_I do remember the bees. And your laughter. It made being crazy worth it, if only for the moment. I miss purgatory as well, it was the one time I felt that I did right by you. Even though I left you at the end of that story as well._

_…_

Castiel was convinced that his car had shrunk in size. The interior was stuffy. The upholstery too scratchy. His CD from Kevin was starting to skip and the radio played nothing but “The Devil went down to Georgia” for miles. He felt all of this on hyperdrive and couldn’t let his mind wander because constantly he was being watched.

He had forgotten how observant angels could be. How they could stare at something with that insane look of wonder and awe without ever tiring or even needing to blink for heaven’s sake. Patience. Consistency. Silence. All traits of a superior breed of soldier.

Not for traveling partners.

For two weeks they drove northward from Louisiana through the lower states to Virginia and have come up empty-handed on finding more angels. Ambriel claimed that she could still sense when angels were near, even former angels like Castiel. She said very little, preferring to communicate with her piercing gaze and minimal body language. Cas tried to avoid her eyes, knowing that her usefulness outweighed his discomfort in importance.

Still, all leads turned up cold.

Scratching out yet another set of coordinates from the Men of Letter’s data, he sighed heavily, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The car windows were thrown open as they sat in a rest stop parking lot, but not a breeze could be tempted. He felt sticky and salty all over and dreamt of proper showers and central air conditioning.

Ambriel was a picture of serenity and hygiene, not a hair out of place. Castiel had allowed her to obtain money using her grace (the guilt keeping him up at night) and the occasional burger (less guilty) but wouldn’t go so far as to ask her to help him stop smelling so bad. Especially since she wasn’t complaining.

“Why have we stopped?” She asked, despite the fact they had been stopped for thirty minutes.

“Been driving for twelve hours straight,” He said, head in his hands, “Need to take human time.”

She nodded silently and looked out the window. The heat was merciless but at least he was in the shade and maybe just maybe he could sleep for a while—

“Why don’t you teach me how to drive?”

Cas groaned as she wrenched him from his almost-doze. “You? Drive? You’re an angel, you don’t need to drive.”

“Inaccurate.” She insisted, “I can’t use my grace that flashily at the moment, so for practicalities sake I should learn how to drive so that you can rest and be a better leader on this mission.”

Cas laughed humorlessly. “I’m not your leader, Ambriel. No one is.” Her eyes bore into his wordlessly. He looked away. “Besides, I’m not comfortable enough with driving myself to be a suitable teacher.”

“I see.”

“Thank you.”

Silence settled again. Cas reclined his seat back and little and was just laying his head down for a moment-

“Did your human teach you how to drive?”

He felt tears of frustration prick at his eyes and tried to stifle his sudden need to yell and scream and throw a tantrum that would only make him overheat more. “My what?” He asked, his voiced uncharacteristically high.

“Your human. Dean Winchester. Everyone knows the stories.” She cocked her head forward, as if to say “silly Castiel.”

“He is not my human,” he cranked his seat back up, giving up on sleep, “He’s a friend. An equal.”

“I see,” she squinted, looking away, “Friends.”

“Surely I don’t see to illustrate the mechanics of friendship to you Ambriel-“

“I am well acquainted with the term, _Castiel,”_ She interrupted. She folded her hands in her lap and was silent once again.


	6. Chapter 6

_Summer is a miserable time to be human. I can no longer replicate your layered approach to clothing._

_-Castiel_

**_No kidding man, unless you’re in Vermont or something summer’s gonna suck ass. I feel bad we never got around to fixing the AC in that car of yours._ **

_It’s not a problem. We’ve found a… “Starbucks” and they don’t seem to mind if we sit in the air conditioner whilst sipping on tap water for extended periods of time. Just while we sort out where we are going next. Mystifying._

**_Oh yeah dude. Starbucks is a magical place. Nobody drinks that shit but yuppies and Sam, but the AC is great. Just don’t let them talk you into anything with chocolate drizzled on it._ **

_I’ll try to resist… I can’t pretend that I haven’t imagined what they would taste like… No matter though, five dollars is too much to spend on liquid alone._

**_Yeah… So realtime convo. I didn’t know we could do this._**

_Well as luck would have it we both seemed to have picked up our journals at the same time._

**_Yeah its… cool I guess. What with the awkward pauses and careful grammar it’s basically what we sound like face to face. Tell Ambriel I said hi. Does she know about this thing?_ **

_She knows about you. The entire host knows about you from all your exploits, apocalyptic or otherwise. I find her difficult to read. I see her glancing at my writing but she remains silent. I’m convinced she has a secret. Nothing malevolent, but something._

**_What am I like an angel bedtime story or something?_ **

_More like a common seek-and-destroy mission. However, Ambriel claims this is her first time in a human vessel. But the stories of “team free will” are widespread._

**_Yeah cause we’re badasses. I don’t like the sound of all this secretive shit though. If she pulls anything I’m coming to get you._ **

_She won’t. She needs me. Perhaps that’s just hope talking. If the angels are trapped on earth, I want them to unite, not fight amongst themselves._

**_Yeah… That’s make all our lives easier. ‘Cept yours of course. But what else is new._ **

_I just want peace. Whatever the cost is to me doesn’t compare to the debt I owe heaven and earth._

**_Yeah yeah not trying to pick a fight here. I just_ **

“…Dean?” 

“Yeah Sammy, just lemme…” Dean paused his sentence and turned just in time for Sam’s eyes to roll back in his head as he collapsed, his large frame colliding with Dean’s chair and taking them both down.  Dean heard a crack and when a throbbing pain followed he realized he’d clocked himself out good on the hardwood floors.  His left wrist was jammed, probably gotten caught in the chair.

“Jesus  _Christ_  Sam-what the fuck-“ Dean blinked the stars out of his eyes, shaking his head fiercely as he shoved the broken chair out of the way and tried to get a clear look at his brother.  Sam was unconscious, that much was damn certain, but something wasn’t right.  His jaw was too tense and it looked like he was shaking…the pain in Dean’s wrist increased and Dean realized with a sickening jolt that was what he thought was a jammed joint was actually Sam’s grip around his arm, tightening dangerously as Sam’s muscled convulsed out of his control.

“Shit,” Dean swore, his hand burning as he pressed it against Sam’s forehead, “ _Shit._   Sam!”

_Dean?_

“Kevin!” Dean roared, finally working his arm free of Sam’s death grip, “Kevin get your ass in here.”

He heard the former AP student’s scrabbling footsteps down the hallway, rushing as he heard the real panic in Dean’s voice.  Dean focused on getting a grip on Sam, using his body weight to try and hold his brother as still as he could until the seizure subsided.  All Dean’s strength wasn’t doing much to keep Sam’s spine from arcing off the floor and Jesus, why did Sam have to be so goddamned  _huge_?  Dean wasn’t a small guy but he was having all the effect of a rodeo cowboy trying to pin a bucking bronco.

“Dean? What the hell?”  Kevin immediately tried to jump in and help restrain Sam.

“No! No,” Dean tried to keep his head together as he shoved the young man away, “You’re not gonna make much difference here.  Leave him to me.”

“What can I do?” For once Kevin didn’t have a cynical comment.  Sam’s pale face and locked joints were enough to sober anybody up.

“Bathroom.  Turn on the cold tap,” Dean gritted out as Sam finally began to calm under his desperate hands, “Then get anything that’ll pass for ice outta the freezer.  As long as it’s sealed and cold toss it in.  We gotta get his temperature down.”

“You got it.” 

_Just… what?_

_I don’t want to appear condescending but that was not a complete sentence._

Dean was halfway down the hallway, Sam’s limp arm hiked over his shoulder and his moose feet dragging on the floor when Dean’s vision began to swim.  He slumped against the wall as he tried to keep from dropping Sam, struggling against the black splotches that were blocking out his sight. 

Concussion, Dean’s brain provided.  “Shut up,” he shot back doggedly, shoving off the wall and doing his best to shunt Sam towards the bathroom, his brother’s fevered skin threatening to overheat Dean’s already addled skull. 

“Goddammit Cas,” Dean muttered, “This is why I need you  _here_.”

“Dean?”  Kevin appeared, this time with an armload of frozen vegetables.

“Hit my head,” Dean mumbled, “M’okay.  We gotta get Sam.”

Kevin ran ahead, and Dean heard the splash of the plastic bags hitting the tubful of water before Kevin returned, dragging Sam’s other arm over his shoulder. 

“I don’t think ‘okay’ is the word to describe you right now,” Kevin observed as they managed to cram Sam into the small bathroom.

“Cas,” Dean said, suddenly remembering. 

“No, I’m Kevin.  See this is exactly what I’m talking about-“

“No, shut up,” Dean cut him off, “I got Sam from here.  You gotta go back to the library and tell Cas what happened.”  Kevin continued to look at him in concern.

“Dude, Cas  _isn’t here._ ”

“I know that!” Dean snapped, “The book on the table, you can write in it, it’s like an email or something.  Go tell him what’s up while I get Sam under control.  See if he can do anything.  Tell him…just tell him.”  Kevin darted back out into the hall as Dean practically dropped Sam into the icy water, barely enough strength to keep him from cracking his skull on the porcelain.  Dean did his best to hold him as Sam struggled against the shocking cold, yanking off his boots and slapping a bag of frozen peas on his forehead, getting himself thoroughly soaked.

“Stay with me Sam,” Dean begged as his brother thrashed in the freezing bath.

**_Cas it’s Kevin. Sam just dropped in the middle of the library and Dean’s trying to get him in the tub. He thinks his fever’s spiking again. You gotta get back here man. Dean’s a wreck._ **

Cas’s heart dropped into his stomach. He racked his brain for a response.  _I’m sorry, Kevin, but I can’t do anything for Sam so my presence would be more of a hindrance._ No, that sounded crass.  _Dean doesn’t need me, he needs Sam to be better._ That sounded selfish.  _I’m coming home now._ He couldn’t do that. Not now.

 _I’m too_ _I’m too far away to be of any assistance. I don’t know what to do…_

A hand appeared over his shoulder. He jumped with surprise before realizing that it was only Ambriel. She must have wandered away minutes ago, while Cas had been in conversation. Pen in hand, she wordlessly began to scribble in his journal.

“Hey-“ he started to protest, before he realized what she was writing.

“Healing sigil. Should buy your friend some time if the humans can apply it correctly. In blood. His brother’s will work the best.” She said, still writing. To finish it off, she rubbed some ink onto the pad of her thumb and pressed it into the paper. She numbered each section in accordance to the order she drew them. “Make sure they follow the order correctly, or else it definitely won’t work.”

Castiel stared at the paper. There was time when he could have pulled a trick like that right out of thin air. Now he couldn’t even remember basic healing principles.

 

 

 

Ambriel plopped down in the chair across from him. “Self-pity will not help him.” She said, rolling her eyes, “It won’t help us either for that matter.”

Cas glared at her and wondered when she had learned to roll her eyes before looking back down at the journal. Kevin had been angrily writing while Ambriel had been drawing.

**_Bullshit man! You’re just too fucking ashamed that you can’t whammy Sam back to normal to see that that’s not what dean needs you for-_ **

_Listen to me Kevin- tell Dean to draw this sigil on Sam’s forehead. I apologize, it must be in Dean’s blood. Ambriel tells me it’s a written out version of our (angels) generic healing spell. It may not work- and it won’t cure him- but it might be worth a try._

**_Oh- ok. Yeah I’ll give it to Dean._ **

_Kevin I’m sorry- tell Dean that I’m- just let me know how Sam is._

_Kevin?_

 

__


	7. Chapter 7

_I’m back Cas.  Sorry I dropped you last night, Sam-well, he scared the shit out of me.  I thought we we’re past this, you know?  I thought he was getting better.  I guess he’s been acting better than he felt cause he doesn’t want to let me down or whatever.  Hell, he’s a Winchester.  Martyrs through and through._

_I got his ~~fevere~~  fever back down to 101, so at least he’s not cookin’.  Tell uh…tell your angel buddy thanks.  I know I haven’t had a lot nice to ~~sya~~ say, but…her little doodle helped Sam a lot and I’m grateful.  …Yeah.  You too.  You helped too.  I saw what Kevin wrote, and don’t worry about that.  He was just upset.  We’re all a little tense over here._

_Sorry I’m not my usual chipper self.  Ha.   Sorry for the handwriting too, not like I’m much better on your ~~averrage~~  average day.  This is my “Writing with a concussion while attempting to hold a bag of frozen asparagus to my throbbing  ~~skill~~  skull”  ~~leverl~~  level of conversation._

_I’m gonna go ~~lie~~   ~~lay~~   ~~lie~~  hit the couch for a couple, I think.  ‘Night Casss._

_Dean_

* * *

_Hello Dean,_

_Concussion? As far as I know, a concussion can be quite serious. I’m not sure if frozen asparagus is the best treatment for that. I’m positive the blood loss from drawing the sigil didn’t help matters. Please promise me that you’re taking care of yourself as well as Sam._

_I’m glad to hear that Sam is feeling somewhat better. Ambriel appreciates your thanks. As do I, though I wish I could have done more._

_I’m beginning to wonder if more can be done for Sam. Ambriel tells me that before the angels fell from heaven, rumors of “the boy with demon blood" began circulating for the first time since the apocalypse was averted. How they could feel him purifying. I don’t know if it means anything, but I will keep searching for a cure._

_We are headed north to our next batch of coordinates. Let me know how Sam is doing. Tell Kevin I’m sorry about my hesitation. Please take care of yourself._

_…_

"If you grip that pen any harder, you’re going to snap it in half." Ambriel said, rolling her eyes in her new signature way, “Though I suppose without your grace that would prove to be difficult."

Cas glared sideways at her. “Your opinion has been noted, and ignored."

They had finally made it to Olean, New York. A small town supported by a large Franciscan University, Ambriel swore she could sense a large amount of angel energies coming from here, even though it was almost a hundred miles east of the closest Men of Letters coordinates. Not a Starbucks in sight here, instead they were parked on a street bench to rest before they continued their search.

And so Cas could write to Dean, if he was being honest.

To his dismay, Ambriel kept speaking. “You and your human spend a lot of time writing to each other, yet you never seem to say anything."

"Dean and I are communicating to exchange news. From one hunter to another. Our writing is practical." Castiel spat back. Something nagged at him in the back of his head, however, softly saying  _She’s right._

If he was being honest with himself, Castiel had hoped that writing to each other would put him and Dean back on track. Back to talking  and confiding in each other before he had ruined everything.

So far the closest they had come to being honest was in the form of drunkenness or hastily crossed out half-sentences. Cas’s letter didn’t come close to conveying the worry he felt, the anger he felt at Dean for taking so much on. The disappointment he felt in himself for leaving.

With new resolve, Cas gripped his pen still tighter and again set it to the paper.

_Dean?_

_I …I wish I could be there right now. I wish I could take care of you. I realize that I can’t perch on your shoulder anymore. Heaven knows I wasn’t very good at protecting you to begin with._

_You probably think I’m being irrational. I know you are fully capable of taking care of yourself. But you won’t. You will hold a half-thawed bag of asparagus to your head for ten minutes (at the most) until you have to go take care of Sam or check on Kevin’s work on the angel tablet and make dinner. You probably already have._

_Leaving was my choice, and I don’t regret it. I only regret that I left you alone in your own care. I want to take care of you, Dean. I always have. I have only ever kept secrets for that purpose. It’s not an excuse, just the truth. I hope that’s ok for me to say._

_Just.. please keep the asparagus on your head a little longer. If you won’t do it for yourself then do it for Or better yet, get yourself some proper ice._

_Your friend,_

_Castiel_

* * *

 

**June 10, 2013: Just Outside the Headquarters of the Men of Letters**

Cas wiped sweat from his brow, emerging from under the hood of his car, finally finished. Carefully closing the hood, he stood back to look at his handiwork.

_His Car._

At first Cas had protested when, after a week of driving lessons, Dean announced that Cas was a natural driver and needed a car of his own. He didn't understand why it was needed, honestly. Especially when Sam didn’t have one and and he wasn’t going anywhere without Dean and the Impala, not anymore. Dean shook his head, simply saying that it was a human thing.

After a week of elbow grease and TLC, the 1997 Chevy Cavalier looked almost presentable. Dean had put up a little resistance when Cas had pointed at the teal model at the rock-bottom used car lot, but in the end accepted that there was only room for one jet-black car in the family anyway. All "she" needed was a few tune-ups and a good scrubbing before Dean could deem her fit for the public eye.

"All done there, Cas?" Dean rolled out from underneath the car, wiping grease from his hands as he joined Cas by the hood.

"Yes." Cas affirmed. "You were right, the salesman highly overestimated when the last oil change occurred."

Dean nodded. "I told you. Slimy son of a bitch. Seems to have been truthful about everything else, thankfully."  He walked over to the cooler and grabbed two bottles, opening them for the two of them. "She's no classic, but at least she's a Chevy."

Cas smiled and took the offered beer, and they drank in silence while sitting on the hood. He didn't have much of a taste for the stuff, but it was cold and the heat in Kansas was sweltering. His t-shirt stuck to him, sweat dripping down his face and back. His neck ached steadily. Human things. It wasn't entirely unpleasant.

He had expected his life to be turbulent and messy since the angels fell and was still shocked at the calm and _domesticity_ of it all. Scientists were still trying to unravel the mystery of the "meteor shower" that had lit up the sky almost one month ago. No news of rogue angels reached their ears.

Dean was different. He made breakfast every morning and drank coffee instead of whiskey while doing research and was always suggesting that they have a Star Wars marathon. Looking at him, Cas could no longer see the dark circles that once were a constant under his eyes and his shoulders were relaxed. Dean smiled to himself before lifting the bottle to his lips again. Cas felt a prickling, strange heat begin to climb up his neck before he looked away. How he wished he could still hear Dean's thoughts.

"I'm telling you man," he wrenched Cas from his own thoughts, "We gotta get Charlie down here again, I can't believe you two still haven't met. She's a riot."

Cas nodded silently, having heard many stories about their red-headed genius friend. She had even insisted on speaking to Cas on the phone a number of times to ask what angel omens she should be looking for and about Dean's well-being.

"Dean," Cas began, "Are we doing the right thing just waiting here for something to happen? We are bound to-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," Dean interrupted, "We're not just _waiting_ here. We're strategizing and preparing for whatever's coming next. And it's not like we can do anything with Sammy... feeling like he is. Kevin's working on the angel tablet, we're keeping our ears open, there's nothing else we can do right now."

"I suppose you're right." Cas said, taking another sip of beer, "I can't help but feel uneasy about Crowely, however. And Abaddon."

Dean shrugged and nodded, "Well you got me there. It's quite a mystery."

Dean had explained to him that after Sam had failed to finish the final trials they had left Crowley in the Church. When they returned he had been gone. Hadn't heard from him since.

Dean tossed his now empty bottle into the garbage can with a shattering of glass and started to make his way back to the bunker door.

"Dean," Cas called him back.

"Yeah Cas?"

Cas exhaled, trying to find the words. Trying to find the right words to tell him how much it all meant to him. How at home he felt. How humanity was beginning to feel good, even right.

He knew Dean wouldn't hear any of it. Brushing it aside was what he did, always with a declaration of "no chick flick moments." Instead he asked a question.

"Why did you buy me a car, Dean?"

Dean smiled in a way that reached his eyes. "You've got a home here, man. But you're not a prisoner. You're a real boy now. A free man."

Cas smiled back, feeling the now familiar heat settling in his chest, next to his heart. 


	8. Chapter 8

_Hey Cas,_

_It’s me.  I mean, it’s Sam.  I uh, kinda hijacked this little journal.  I thought it was just Dean keeping a record like Dad, but it didn’t take me long to figure out that you guys have been talking with it.  You gotta explain the tech behind that when you get back._

_Dean, well.  Dean’s conked out in a chair at the end of my bed right now.  I think he fell asleep sometime this morning, trying to keep an eye on me. I managed to get a pillow under him at least, but I can’t move him.  I can’t do much of anything at the moment and Dean’s killing himself taking care of me.  He didn’t even tell me he hit his head.  I just found out when I read your letter._

_Listen, I didn’t know you and Dean were still talking, but I’m really glad. Dean doesn’t want to admit it but I’m not getting any better.  He’s right, I’ve been putting up a front, whether to convince Dean or convince myself I’m not sure.  The point is, I’m in rough shape.  I’m not giving up; we’re still looking at options, but I’m scared this might be long term.  I’m even more afraid it might be short term._

_I know you’re on a mission right now.  I get the whole ‘seeking redemption’ thing, believe me, and I want you to succeed.  Just um…if anything happens.  To me.  Just promise you won’t let Dean be alone.  Ha, I mean, you know better than anyone how crazy he gets when he doesn’t have somebody to take care of. So, if I’m not around, let him take care of you, and maybe eventually he’ll let you look after him too.  Trust me, if anybody in this crazy family needs somebody to lean on right now, it’s Dean._

_Thanks Cas,_

_Sam_

Sam felt, rather, heard his brother stir as he wrote.  Dean woke slowly, stretching out a crick in his neck before he caught sight of the journal in Sam’s hands and froze.  Sam kept his expression level, finishing his sentence before offering the book back to his brother.  He laid back on his pillows, drained, and watched as his brother’s eyes darted across the pages, reading his letter to Cas.  Dean’s face was hard, but the shadows under his eyes were too pronounced for him to look angry.

“See anything you wanna cross out?” Sam asked, trying to decipher his brother’s reaction.  Dean was silent for a while, and Sam got a glimpse of just how tired his brother really was.

“No,” Dean admitted at last, shutting the diary.  He gave Sam a once over, checking his pulse and his temperature, before leaving him with a “Get some sleep, Sammy.”  Sam settled in to do just that, trying to ignore the tackiness of the sheets against his damp skin and praying, for Dean’s sake, that Cas came back soon.

 

 

 

****

 

* * *

 

_Sam,_

_It’s good to hear from you. I appreciate your understanding, and in turn I’ll take your request to heart. I don’t want you to lose hope, however. I meant what I said in my last letter, I think there is a way out there to fix you. I can feel it in my “gut," as you and Dean would say. I can’t promise that I’ll be back soon, but when I do I hope I can bring a cure back to you._

_\- Castiel_

_…_

Bed. Check.

For the first time since leaving the Men of Letters bunker, Castiel had a room with a bed and a shower and little bottles of body wash and shampoo and a  _bed._  After two days with no luck in finding angels and haphazardly trying to stay clean by washing up in gas station bathrooms, he finally broke and let Ambriel mojo her way into getting them a motel room. His guilt was of epic proportions, and he knew any small amount of grace she used put them on the radar for demons. But what was guilt when compared with a  _bed_.

He tried to feel embarrassed that Sam had read his personal thoughts but it felt right. While his “profound bond" was with Dean, he knew that he and Sam had made similar mistakes. Sam understood the need for retribution. To fix what was broken.

His eyes fluttered closed. Sleep or shower? Both were prospects approaching heavenly when he heard a soft knock on the door.

Cas’s eyes flew open and he sat up quickly. There was no reason for anyone to knock on his door. Ambriel had a key.

Peeking out the keyhole, he saw that it was indeed Ambriel waiting outside the door. He yanked open the door, the midday heat hitting him square in the face.

"Why did you knock? You have a key."

"Humans need their privacy. I was giving you fair warning."

"I’m not- Fair warning for-" Before he could finish arguing he realized that Ambriel wasn’t alone on the sidewalk.

Behind her stood a tall man with dark brown skin and dark eyes, his hair shoulder length and wiry and sticking out in all directions. His ratty t-shirt and too-big jeans held up with a neon colored jump rope pointed towards poverty or homelessness. One more look in his eyes told Castiel that this was no man.

"Hello brother. Haven’t seen you since you kicked down my door." His voice was raspy and deep.

Castiel barely had time to brace himself before a fist hit his face.

* * *

 

_Hello Dean,_

_Because of recent events, I realized that I never apologized for the way I… kicked your ass when you were about to say yes to Michael. I had been holding back of course… I didn’t have any intention of hurting you in any real sense. Nevertheless, I apologize now._

_Ambriel found another angel today. His name is Hadarniel and was once the gatekeeper of heaven, one of the most powerful angels, excepting the archangels. He remembers me for a much less savory reasons than Ambriel  did. Let’s just say he didn’t give me anything I don’t deserve._

_Like Ambriel, Hadarniel’s grace is still intact. However, he… for lack of a better phrase, he seems to have fallen_ harder.  _He runs a higher temperature than any angel I have ever known and his skin can burn if touched for too long. Ambriel tells me that her vessel gave her permission to inhabit her, but Hadarniel says that he woke up inside his, disoriented and with no memory of how he got there. I do not know if any of this bears any significance. It could mean nothing._

_How is your head?_

_Your friend,_

_Castiel_

 

 

__


	9. Chapter 9

_Hey Cas,_

_I’m holdin’ up, us Winchesters are hard headed in more ways than one. Sorry to hear your new party member roughed you up. Although, speaking from personal experience, nothing helps ease guilt quite like getting your ass handed to you. Bobby used to call it “Hunter’s therapy”._

_Sam’s on the mend, as much as he can be. He ate like four grilled cheese sandwiches this morning, so he’s got his appetite back anyway. Kevin’s been at the angel tablet ever since Sam relapsed. He was just telling me about something he thinks might help. There’s a section that talks about an object, the best Kev can make it out it’s called the “Crown of Twelve Stars”, but he says it’s meant for “cleansing”, or like a shield against evil. I don’t know if it’ll do a damn thing, but between the demon blood and the Hell closing gunk trapped in Sam’s cells I can’t imagine a good cleanup could make him any worse. You think you could put your angel heads together and figure out what this thing is? I know it’s a long shot, but I’m tired of sittin’ on my ass and waiting for things to get better._

_Let me know, and hey, if the angel’s give you a hard time, don’t be afraid to hit back. It may not do much, but trust me, It’ll make you feel better. I’ll see if Kevin can decode anything on angel vessels and temperature._

_Later,_

_Dean_

 

* * *

_Hello Dean,_

__The bible is heavily edited, even the version you acquired from Bobby. While_ this does sound promising, the actual imagery is so shrouded in symbolism that a “Crown of twelve stars” could mean anything. Once, I knew every theological concept. Now… let’s just say I’m losing information every day. Human brains don’t have the same memories as angels. However, I did inquire with Hadarniel and Ambriel and they know nothing as well, saying that the Crown of Twelve Stars was just a fabrication of John, the writer of Revelations._

_I don’t know what to believe. But I will keep looking into this, please keep me updated on whatever else Kevin finds._

_…_

“What are we supposed to do while he writes?”

“I still haven’t quite figured it out. When I stare he becomes distempered. The same happens when I try to speak with him.”

“I see. Should we talk amongst ourselves?”

“That may be our best course of action at this point.”

“I agree.”

“…”

“Do you have a topic for discussion in mind?”

“Humans often discuss the weather.”

“What for?”

“I couldn’t say.”

…

_Hadarniel and Ambriel are getting along well. I wish I had more to tell you about my mission, but it seems that the angels are either assimilating very well or… I don’t know what the alternative is. But it can’t be good._

_…_

“Humans also discuss food. When, where, and what they will be eating is very important to them.”

“I have never eaten.”

“Me neither.”

“Perhaps we should ask Castiel-“

“We can’t disturb him.”

“Yes. I am forgetting the goal of our mission. Apologies.”

“You are forgiven.”

…

_I had forgotten how fatiguing the company of angels can be. After all, according to Naomi, I have always preferred the company of humans. How I wish I still had those memories._

_…_

“He seems to have stopped writing. Does that mean anything?”

“I can’t be sure, but I think it means that he is longing for his human who is far away from him and is now pondering whether he should tell him how much he misses-“

Cas slammed the journal shut. “ALRIGHT. You have my attention, Ambriel. Hadarniel.” He removed the hotel towel full of ice from his bruised eye and looked at the two angels.

Ambriel eyebrows furrowed, confused. “We didn’t call for you, Castiel.”

Hadarniel smirked, and Castiel knew that he was the culprit in trying to get a rise out of him. Despite Dean’s encouragement, Cas hadn’t hit Hadarniel back, realizing that the blow was proper punishment for the last time they had met. Castiel, while full of purgatory souls and Leviathan, had not been strong enough to kill Hadarniel, the ever dedicated gatekeeper of heaven, during his siege of heaven. Instead he had knocked him right into a parallel dimension, ensuring Castiel’s entrance into heaven where he could commit mass murder.

A shiver ran down Castiel’s spine. A punch in the eye and a little teasing was the least he should receive.

He sighed and opened the journal again.

…

_However, I am grateful for the company, even if it is of the odd variety. Give Sam and Kevin my regards._

_Your friend,_

_Castiel_

 


	10. Chapter 10

“I’m not goin’ Sam.”

“Yeah you are.”

“I said  _no,_  and I goddamn meant it.  You’re still sick.”

“And I’m gonna be sick until Kevin can find something in the tablet to help me out.  You being cooped up here isn’t doing anybody any good.”

“Dean, I can take care of Sam-“

“Shut up Kevin, nobody’s talkin’ to you.”

“This is what I’m talking about!  You’re frustrated, and you’re taking out on the people around you.  Enough is enough, Dean.”

“So, what?  You’re throwing me out?”

“For a two day hunt.  You don’t have to be so freaking dramatic.  You’re not even going out of state.”

“I still say I’m not going at all.”

“You’re outvoted Dean.  There’s people dying and we have a job to do.”

“Grr…fine.  Play the family business card.  I’ll go…get my kit together.”

“Great.”

* * *

 

 _Annoying siblings?  Yeah I get it.  Even bedridden Sam can still be_ gigantic  _pain in my ass, no pun intended._

 _I’m being banished from the MoL bunker, if you can believe that.  Apparently I’m lashing out, and Kevin and Sam are sick of it.  There sending me to Kansas City for a salt and burn, so it looks like we’ll both be on the road for the next few days.  I don’t like it, but I’ve been_ ‘ _outvoted’._

_Ugh…maybe they’ve got a point.  I’ve been walking in circles for the last few days, and I can be a real ass when I’m feeling helpless.  You know that better than anyone, unfortunately.  I guess a little ghost hunting action could help take the edge off.  I just don’t like leaving Sam unprotected.  Kevin too, I guess.  It’s hard enough with you out there, badass though you are.  …yeah.  Anyways, I’m leaving tomorrow morning.  It’s gonna be real weird without anybody riding shotgun.  You in the area?  I hear KC has some good burgers.  Just kidding, though I probably could use the backup.  I haven’t hunted solo in a while.  It’ll be fun._

_Cheers,_

_Dean_

 

* * *

“Castiel!”

A small hand gripped at his shoulder and _shook_ , jarring him right out the first deep sleep he had cultivated in a month. He cracked one eye open, looking right into the tense and worried face of Ambriel. For the first time, she looked young.

He sat up, her hand falling from his shoulder. “What is it?”

 “Hadarniel. He- just collapsed, started speaking jibberish. I can’t get him to come to.”Her voice was steady but her shaking palms betrayed her nerves. “Now he’s just unconscious.” She gestured to the other side of the room.

Castiel strode over to where Hardarniel lay on the floor. Kneeling down to get a closer look, he noticed that his eyes were shut, his dark skin almost impossibly translucent. His chest was still. Castiel knew angels didn’t technically need to breathe, but their vessels grew uncomfortable if left without oxygen. There were certain things the body just got used to.

Ambriel followed him over. “I’ve never seen an angel lose consciousness.” She muttered.

“Nor have I.”

As Castiel went to check Hardarniel’s pulse, the angel’s eyes flew open and he gasped for air, coughing and sputtering until Castiel could help him into a seated a position. Cas waited a moment for Hadarniel to catch his breath.

“What happened?” He asked, helping Hardarniel onto the bed.

His eyes were wild. “So much fire. I couldn’t walk through it, couldn’t even _see_ through it.”

Ambriel folded her arms, her expression back to its usual stern position. “I don’t understand. Angels are not privy to personal psychic visions, and we cannot dream.”

Hadarniel looked up at her, his eyes tired and even more lined than before. “Your rules are perfectly accurate, fledgling. However, angels have never been purged from the heavens before.”

Ambriel squinted but remained silent. Castiel shook his head. “Now is not the time for asserting dominance. What else did you see?”

“It’s not about what I saw, it’s about what I know.” The color was returning to his face.

“And what do you know?”

Hadarniel sighed, running his fingers through his hair. His hands shook slightly as he mumbled, “Abaddon is at large.”

Castiel nodded, having heard this from the Winchesters.

He continued. “She has… she has some angels, possibly all of them. Captive. I believe I was one of them, until I escaped, losing my memory in the process. I saw…” He paused, rubbing his head, “I saw _lights._ ”

“Was it grace?” Ambriel asked.

Hadarniel nodded. “Yes. But it was warped. Condensed in some way.”

Castiel swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “Was there anything else?”

Hadarniel got up, testing out his shaking legs. His voice still shook, but with new resolve. “I know where she is.”

* * *

 

_Hello Dean,_

_I think Sam and Kevin are right. A hunt will be good for you. You’ve said it yourself; it’s part of who you are._

_We are also back on the road again. Hadarniel has had a vision concerning the fallen. Angels don’t often have visions, so I feel inclined to take this seriously. We head out west tomorrow._

_We are both busy, so I may not get a chance to write for a few days… Try to be cautious. I will do the same._

_Your friend,_

_Castiel_

 

 

 

* * *

Blood loss was a funny thing, Dean thought to himself as he tightened the makeshift tourniquet over his slashed bicep.  Once the adrenaline wears off, all that’s left is exhaustion, dry mouth, and an overwhelming urge to spill your guts to the closest guy and just hug it out.  Dean was feeling…loopy.  It was like being drunk.  But not sullen, manly, beer and scotch drunk.  No, it was like red wine, champagne, “I’m trapped at Lisa’s cousin’s engagement party and all their serving are these fruity vodka drinks” kind of drunk.  Dean should probably drink some water.  Or he could talk to Cas.  Cas probably knew all about vengeful spirits who turned out to actually be demons who had a weekend off and decided to play poltergeist just for the hell of it.  Yeah.  That’s what he should do.     

**_Cas… Not a ghost after all. Defffinitely not A ghost._ **

_What do you mean? Are you alright?_

**_Demon… S’ok. M’ok… Hurts_ **

Holding a pencil was turning out to be more challenging than Dean anticipated.  As was thinking in complete sentences.  As was not telling Cas that he needed him more than the pint and half of blood he had lost.

_Are you injured?? Dean what happened?_

**_Got me. Just a little. I got him tho… hA. Got ‘im good cas._ **

_Where are you? Ambriel can- I’m c-_

“I will do no such thing.”

Cas looked up to see Ambriel and Hadarniel, arms crossed and faces hard. It would almost be a comical image if he could remember how to smile. “You don’t understand. Dean’s hurt. He could be dying. We have to go to him.”

“I understand. Perfectly. You want to jeopardize our whole mission just to help your favorite human, who isn’t even asking for your help.” Children played in the park around them, their laughter shrill in the background. “Do you realize that if I were to fly you there, it would be the equivalent of taking my vessel’s pants and hoisting them up the flag pole? Every demon will swamp us. And then we’ll really be in trouble.”

Anger boiled in Cas’s sternum. He directed it Ambriel and her ridiculous pink pants. “Between me, you, and Hadarniel, we can take on a few demons. This is  _important_ Ambriel. I would not ask this lightly.”

“I’m sorry, Castiel,” Her face softened slightly, “But you’re just a man, and not thinking strategically right now. Our mission has to come first, and a battle with demons would put us right on Abaddon’s radar.”

Castiel swallowed a lump forming in his throat, feeling his sense of control slip through his fingers once again. If he were an angel he would have already healed Dean by now and fought off the hoard off demons that would follow him. He didn’t care for being at the mercy of other angels.

Looking down, he saw that Dean had written again.

**_I’m still in kansasc city. Dident even get to try any burgers. Arm’s no good for driving._ **

_Dean I need you to stay awake. Keep writing if that helps. I’m going to call Kevin._

Cas set down his pen and got to his feet. “I’m going to find a phone. Stay here and watch my things, if you can manage to do that for me.” His voice was shaking and he pretended to not see Ambriel’s self-righteous look of pity.

 **_Nooo… I’m fine. I am_ ** **good _. Im dean Winchester. Don’t need anybody._**

 **_Maybe not_ ** **anybody. _I think im loosing a little bit too much blood over here. M’ok tho. Already called kKevin. Hes comin’_**

 **_Where are_ ** **you, _cas? Is it nice? It should be somewhere nice. Ive dragged you to tooooo many shitty places. Tell me youre somewhere good now._**

**_You tried to take me someplace good. I remember. Actually…we were just in the bunker. But it felt good. Felt like going somewhere brand new. Nevr told you. Felt good._ **

Mm…Dean let himself get lost for a minute, going back to a place that was warm, and didn’t smell like blood and mildew, and he had Cas’ hand tight on the back of his neck and…Dean growled as he leant forward, accidentally putting weight on his bad arm.  He tried to clench his jaw and ignore the wave of nausea.  Dean wished Cas could come fix him.  Dean wished he’d never met Cas, so in times like these he wouldn’t wish that Cas would come fix him.  He kinda wished Cas could just come and rub his back for a minute, maybe help him get a glass of water.

**_Not feelin’ so hot right now though… Writing’s hard. Imm gonna lay down cas… Glaad you left left… Deserve better._ **

Castiel’s hands shook hard as he tried to maneuver his change into the pay phone. The receiver felt greasy and rough but he shoved it to his ear anyway, thankful that Dean had sat him down one night in the bunker and made him memorize each of their cell-phone numbers.

His heart sped as it rang once, twice, three times before Kevin finally picked up.

“Hello?”

“Kevin! It’s Dean- he’s hurt.” Cas took a deep breath, steadying his shaking voice. “The hunt you sent him on was not a gh-“

“I got it, Cas. He already called me, I’m on my way to OC now.”

“Oh,” Cas sputtered, taken aback by Kevin’s cavalier tone. “What did he tell you?”

Kevin made a nondescript noise. “Not much, just that he couldn’t drive and needed a lift back to the bunker.”

Castiel lowered the phone for a moment, banging his fist on the opaque plastic wall of the telephone booth. “Dammit Dean,” He raised the phone again, “Kevin, Dean’s hurt. He’s losing blood. You have to get there as soon as you can. I’m trying to keep him calm but I’m afraid he’s going to lose consciousness soon—“

“What?” Cas heard a muffled car horn beeping and Kevin shouting “Fuck you asshole it was still yellow! Cas you still there? He sounded fine on the phone an hour ago. Well fuck, I’m gonna be there in twenty minutes. Keep him talking. Tell him I’m almost there.”

Cas nodded before he realized that Kevin couldn’t hear him. “Thank you Kevin. Let me know how he is when you arrive.”

“Don’t mention it. Just doing my duty as Prophet of the Lord.”

“Kevin—“

“Save it man. Just keep him awake. Talk to you soon.” Click.

Cas dropped the receiver and all but ran back to Ambriel and Hadarniel, snatching up his pen and starting to write vigorously.

_Dean I’m back. Keeping writing to me until Kevin gets there. I called him and he’s almost there now._

**_Too tired. Youre gone. Can still hear your voice tho… sams gonna feel guilty now. Don’t wan ‘im to._ **

_Sam will not feel guilty because you’re going to be fine. You’re going to be fine and I’m going to do my best- I’m gonna get back whenever I can._

_Dean?_

_DEAN._

_This isn’t funny Dean._

Castiel’s breathing was ragged and shallow and the calm of the clear summer morning mocked him. Dean was dying. Dean could be dead. Dean was alone.

Cas was alone.

_I’ll tell you where I am if you answer me._

**_Don’t com back. Never. Go as far away as you can._ **

**_I dontt wanna know. If you tell me I’ll come get you and I don’t want to. Don’t want to break you anymore._ **

_Don’t say that._

_Illinois_

_Lombard. To be exact. On our way to St. Louis._

_Now you know. I don’t want to hide from you. I have to do this- but I’m not hiding from you._

**_No no NO! DON’T TELL ME. Don’t- youre so close. Your so close but youre not coming here. youre always so close._ **

Could Dean drive that far right now?  Maybe if he could make some kind of sling…Dean tried to stand, but blackness flashed at the edges of his vision and he landed right back on his ass.  At least he hadn’t missed the chair.  Maybe when Kevin got here he would help Dean drive to Illinois.

_Too late. And I- I want to come. Need to, really. But Ambriel is being… difficult._

_I wish I could fly to you like I used to. I barely remember what it’s like having that kind of power._

_All the times I didn’t answer your prayers… I wish I could make up for it._

**_Not god cas. Itsok.  My fault.  Didn’t appreciate… My arm hurts. a little._ **

_Dean just stay until Kevin is there._

_This isn’t like you. Get pissed! Get angry! Like you would tell Sam._

_You were right. I stole your blue flannel. THe one with the red stripes. I knew it was new but I liked it so I took it. And I don’t even regret it. I wanted something of yours too badly to care._

_What do you have to say about that?_

Cas took his shirt.   _Cas_  took his shirt.  On purpose.  Had Dean worn it yet?  Did it smell like him?  Did it smell like Cas now too? Maybe Cas wasn’t wearing it.  Maybe he just kept it, and sometimes when the angels were buggin’ him he took it out of his bag and felt the soft edges, maybe tickled his nose against the collar, where a little of Dean’s after shave still hovered.  Could he tell Cas that?  No, better not. 

**_Ha… I took your trench coat. I kept it. So there. Alllthetime you were gone I still haad it._ **

_I’m glad you kept it. I couldn’t trust anyone else._

**_Haa… M’thirsty. I think Kevin’s here._ **

**_Hope its Kevin._ **

**_If its not Kevin… im sorry. Sorry i didn’t stop you. Sorry i stopped you._ **

“Dean!  Jesus Christ you stupid schmuck…”

**_Oh. Its Kevin. That’s Good._ **

“I should of known when Cas called that it was more serious than you told me,” Kevin scolded him, “’Just a scratch’?  Really?” 

Dean’s head was flat on the desk by this point, but he waved tiredly as Kevin stormed across the musty motel room.  He paled when he took in the torn flesh of Dean’s upper arm.

“For God’s sake Dean,” he breathed, “You shouldn’t have gotten yourself torn up like this.  You coulda called me when you figured out it wasn’t a ghost.  I know I’m not a hunter but-“

“S’okay Kev,” Dean interrupted, shaking his head.  He didn’t need anybody feeling guilty.   “No big deal.  Cas was here.”

Kevin looked confused, then he caught sight of the journal still open on the desk beside Dean’s head.  He looked at Dean as if to say “Are you serious?”  Dean just shrugged, and immediately cried out from the white hot pain that shot up his arm as a result.  The last few hours proved to be too much, and Dean tried to give Kevin a reassuring grin before he finally blacked out.

_Ok Dean. Get some rest. Tell Kevin to let me know how you’re doing._

**_Hey Cas, it’s Kevin, I made it. This dumb bastard has his arm tied up with his bootlaces and a ripped up t-shirt and he’s still trying to scribble in your little love diary. I’m taking him back to the bunker. He’ll be ok._ **

_Thank you Kevin._

Castiel exhaled for the first time in what felt like days. He ignored Ambriel’s disapproving look and Hardarniel’s useless pity as he reached into his bag, feeling for the soft flannel. He’d memorized the touch of it, but the memory of the broad shoulders it had once covered faded with each passing day.  

                                                       

* * *

 

**June 13, 2013: The Headquarters of the Men of Letters**

Dean is drunk.  Definitely.  He is drunk but he doesn’t feel bad about it because for once he’s drinking because he feels good and not because he needs it to face the day.  Sam is getting better.  He still goes to bed at eight thirty but he’s smiling and the circles under his eyes are going away, and Kevin’s making progress on the angel tablet and Cas, well Cas is here.  Cas is human, but he’s here and at the moment he’s laughing and Dean’s laughing too because it turns out when he doesn’t have the angel mojo to back him up Cas is a total lightweight.  And that is hilarious.

“I have found-hic!- found another one!” Cas crows, holding up the unlabeled record like a prize in one hand and a nearly empty beer bottle in the other.  Considering how anal the Men of letters had been when it came to organizing their occult library, they had been surprisingly lax when it came to their popular music collection.  Dean and Cas, with the aid of a six pack and a half full bottle of JW, had decided this was unacceptable. 

Dean pulls the current record off the player, haphazardly labeling it “Early Sinatra” before adding it to their newly organized stack.  Cas stumbles up from the boxes they had unceremoniously dumped in the library, offering the mystery record to Dean, who places it on the phonograph and sets the needle on the edge.  A slow, sultry trumpet starts up and for once it’s Cas’ eyes that light up in recognition.  Alcohol has loosened up his stiff posture and Cas is swaying to the warm melody.  He’s leaning on Dean a little but Dean doesn’t care because this is so right and normal and  _healthy_  and he doesn’t want it to stop.  

“I remember when this-this song was written,” Castiel declares, “People think it was 1931, but I happen to know for a fact that Gus Khan wrote the lyrics in ’29 and accidentally left them in his sock drawer for two years."  Dean is almost crying he is laughing so hard and so he doesn’t notice when Cas fists a hand in his shirt until he  _pulls_.

A pair of rough lips hits his and Dean is surprised but it feels…it feels good.  When a hand grips tight on the back of his neck it feels even better and Dean realizes his mouth is open and Cas’ tongue isn’t being shy.  It’s hot and wet and there’s a voice in his head screaming  _yes yes take take!_  and Dean’s not sure what he’s doing but maybe if he doesn’t fuck this up he can have this one small thing.  As he goes to put his hands on Cas he realizes he’s shaking his head and pulling away.  Why is he pulling away?

“No.”  _What are you doing?  What the fuck are you doing?_ Dean ignores the very vocal objection from his subconscious as he pushes Cas away with a firm hand on his chest.  “I’m sorry, Cas…but no.”

“Oh,” Cas’ eyes are still glassy from drinking and his mouth is red and spit shiny, “I’m-I apologize- I didn’t-”

“It’s okay.” Dean wishes his head were clearer right now, and that the record player wasn’t still going. “It’s okay.  Just…just forget it.  I’ve had one too many, I think I’m gonna go to bed.  You okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel mumbles, his face red with drink and embarrassment, “Yes of course.  Goodnight Dean.”

“’Night Cas.”

Dean tries to sleep, and tries to ignore the taste of Cas that won’t go away no matter how many times he gets up to brush his teeth.

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

_Dean? I know you’re recovering but I just wanted to see- well I suppose you’ll let me know when you’re fit again._

_…_

_I have a feeling (am certain) that Hadarniel and Ambriel telepathically communicate. I’m not offended; trusting me completely would be foolish on their part, given all my previous mistakes. Still, it can be lonely in the car._

_…_

_The topography here reminds me of purgatory. Without monsters and leviathan, of course. By the way, thank you for leaving a gun in my glove box. I assume it was you. I’m sure it will prove to be useful._

_…_

_I had hoped to speak with you … well it’s no matter. I assume you are still recovering. Take care of yourself and please give Sam and Kevin my regards._

_…_

 

 

 

__

“Castiel? Are you ready?”

The sun set as Castiel closed his journal, running his fingers over the now-worn leather cover, and carefully stowed it in the glove compartment. He removed his gun to make room, tucking it into his jeans. Hadarniel watched him carefully.

Castiel nodded at his question and stepped out of the Cavalier into the balmy summer evening, this time in St. Louis, Missouri. For once he wished his car was black and easily hidden in the shadows, but parking far away would have to suffice.

Ambriel sidled up to him as they started to walk towards the dark, hulking shadow of the abandoned hockey arena. Castiel had been surprised at the location, but Hadarniel swore that his visions led them here. Ambriel remained quiet, her sneakers making soft scuffing noises on the sidewalk. Ever since Dean was injured, a tension settled over them that time had yet to heal. Ambriel spoke even less than before and Castiel didn’t do anything to stop it.

“We may be walking into a battle, Castiel.” She finally uttered.

Castiel snorted. “I was under the impression that we don’t know anything about what we’re walking into.”

“Patience, Castiel.” Hadarniel growled. “Your humanity has made you callous.”

Castiel rolled his eyes but remained silent. They neared their destination and he pulled out his gun, trying to feel for Dean’s handprint in the grip. Dean had shown him how to shoot, but Castiel still longed for his lost angel blade. He glanced enviously at Hadarniel and Ambriel as theirs materialized.

They huddled close to a small side door into the arena, Ambriel pressing her ear close to the rusty metal. “Thirty to forty demons inside. All in hosts. I can feel Abaddon, but she must be behind a warded wall of some kind,” She whispered.

Castiel nodded. “Wards are useless against me,” he half-snarled. He checked the gun one more time to make sure that his bullets were inscribed properly with devil’s traps and demon stunning runes. “Any angelic energy?”

Ambriel squeezed her eyes shut tight as she strained to listen again. “I’m feeling… something. Something that feels like grace.” She glanced at Hadarniel. The soft-spoken angel nodded in agreement.

Castiel breathed in and out deeply, trying to calm his thumping heart and shaking hands. He found that “his” body became sensitive to danger once his grace had been taken by Metatron. His mind was still a trained soldier of heaven. His body used to sell ad-time for AM radio.

“I’ll go in first,” He said, his voice trembling minimally. Ambriel began to protest but Cas cut her off. “Listen. They may have banishing sigils set up. I can lure them out, distract them for a moment, and then you two can come in and blast them away.”

“Of all the stupid plans, Castiel. What good will it do if you get killed—“

“Enough, Ambriel.” Hadarniel interupted. “Castiel’s plan is as sound as possible. Any wound he sustains we can heal. There will be no need to hide our powers once we are revealed.”

Ambriel pursed her lips and nodded, her eyes still fiery. Castiel tore his gaze away and placed one hand on the blackened doorknob while the other gripped his gun tighter. “Wait for a gunshot,” he muttered. Ambriel and Hadarniel flattened themselves against the outside wall of the arena, all but invisible to any demons that may be waiting behind the door.

Hadarniel looked at Castiel and nodded, and Castiel heard the soft  _shuckk_ of the deadbolt releasing. With a quick twist Castiel threw the door open and strode inside, gun raised.

Blackness consumed him, the silence absolute. He could hear his own heartbeat and muffled footsteps on the dusty floor. He remembered a time when he had gone into a warehouse with nothing but a bleeding chest and a fire in his belly for humanity. At least one human.

A click sounded behind him and, one by one, florescent lights burst on, light flooding the room. The arena was trashed. Clearly no one had played hockey here in a long time and it showed in the layer of grime that covered the floor and overturned tables and chairs of the lobby. The smell was foul, tainted with sulfur.

He followed his nose, circling and scanning the room for any sign of movement. He heard an crackling inhale, followed by a voice.

“Oh Castiel. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Castiel whipped around towards the direction of the voice. Nothing.

“I’ve just been  _itchin’_ for a fight.”

He swallowed a lump in his throat and looked internally. The female voice was definitely not inside his mind. He looked around. Speakers lined the walls, and the voice boomed from all of them.

“Of course, we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet. But I do always enjoy an encounter with your friends.”

She laughed softly.

“Now you can meet some of mine.”

Suddenly, a wet cloth soaked in a sickeningly sweet-smelling liquid slapped over his mouth and nose, cutting off his air supply. An arm locked around his neck. Castiel thrashed, dropping his gun and kicking his legs out, but the fumes were already taking effect.

He heard the voice fading. “And counting down, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...

 

* * *

 

_Hey Cas,_

_I’m back on my feet.  I woulda been fine two days ago, but Kevin gave me a dose of somethin’ so he and Sam could stitch me up, and whaddya know, it turns out my substance tolerance is pretty much zero.  I’m usually more of a fifth of whiskey and hydrogen peroxide kind of guy, and not even that after Purgatory.  It’s kinda funny, turns out all the bad guys really need to knock me out for two days is a double dose of Benadryl.  The arm’s okay.  I won’t be doing any major league pitching for a week or two but it’s all good._

_Thanks, you know, for the other day.  I know I was seriously out of it, but it was good to have you there.  Ya know, figuratively.  It was probably tough to not be able to zap and fix everything, and I’m…sorry if I reminded you of that.  I didn’t want to make you feel like crap, I just needed to hear your voice.  I went back and read some of it, and yeah, I was laying on some heavy shit.  There’s some stuff there that we’d been kinda dancin’ around, and um…maybe we should talk about it.  If that’s something you want.  You can um…let me know._

_Yeah I left the gun in there just in case.  I remember Bobby told me once you’d had a good handle on a sawed off, but those are kind of frowned upon in civilian vehicles.  I just thought…wait.  What did you want to talk to me about, Cas?  Why are you bringing up the gun all the sudden?  Are you…what are you guys doing out there?  You’d let me know before you went off on some suicide angel mission, right?  Right?_

_Cas?_

 


	12. Chapter 12

“We should have heard something by now.” Ambriel’s whisper cut through the darkening night. She turned to look through the dark doorway but Hadarniel held her back, his hands gripping her shoulder. “Fighting. Screaming. Grunting. Anything. It’s like he disappeared.”

“Calm yourself , Ambriel. Castiel said to wait for a gunshot.”

“Castiel has no idea what he is doing.”

“You misjudge—“

She yanked her arm from his grip. “In case you haven’t noticed, heaven’s hierarchy doesn’t apply anymore. Castiel is no longer our superior.  And you are not mine.”

Hadarniel narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to counter when he cut himself off with a croak, looking at the arena wall. Strange lights grew from the ground and crawled up the wall, forming glowing designs. It climbed higher, covering the domed arena. They watched speechless before Ambriel realized what was happening.

“Idiot!” She yelled, “Stupid idiot! They’re warding the whole place against us.”

Hadarniel tried to grab the doorknob but pulled back with a hiss as the metal burned his skin. Before them, the arena stood, faintly glowing with expertly drawn warding sigils, effectively sealing the arena shut.

“Castiel!” Ambriel screamed, getting as close to the door as possible without feeling the wards’ effect.

“He can’t hear you.” Hadarniel stood back, his expression vacant. “She’s got him now. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

Ambiel sighed. The building was blocked. Castiel was trapped inside. Possibly hurt. Possibly dead. She couldn’t waste time listening to Hadarniel’s monologue.

She grabbed his shoulders and shook. His eyes focused and looked down at her, shocked. Not for the first time, she cursed her tiny vessel. “Stay here.” She tried to make her voice as commanding as possible. “I’m getting assistance.”

Sealing the arena shut against  _angels._

For the first time since crash landing in a swamp in lower Louisiana, Ambriel flew. For a moment, as the wind filled her wings, she remembered heaven. Not allowing herself to be swept away in the moment, however, she flew towards the one place she knew Castiel would want her to go. She saw it in his mind’s eye every time he opened his journal and whenever they were silent on long drives, his eyes glassy as he gripped the steering wheel. She saw two, sometimes three male faces living in a home in the ground.

She squeezed past some haphazardly drawn angel warding with a pinch and landed in a library-type room with a flurry of wind. Papers flew around her and she heard a shocked voice exclaim “What the hell!”

Looking around, she saw that the source of the voice came from a surprised, but otherwise exhausted man seated at a table with books and papers spread before him. His hair was long and unkempt and a blanket was draped around his shoulders. She recognized him as the face she saw second most in Castiel’s mind. Sam.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “My name is Ambriel.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Of c- of course you are. Uh, gimme a second.” He slowly got up, not taking his eyes off her, and made his way towards the hallway. “Dean!” he called.

“What?” A gruff voice answered.

“You better get in here!”

Heavy footsteps thumped down the hallway, a gruff voice calling, “Can’t a man watch his damn anime in peace—“ he froze as he entered the room. Ambriel calculated that with his shortly cropped hair (though it was longer now than in Castiel’s memories) and slightly bowed legs, he must be Dean. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Who’s the Powerpuff Girl?” His tone was light but he shuffled closer to Sam, where a sawed-off shotgun hung from the back of a chair.

Ambriel ignored his question and stood tall. “My name is Ambriel. I’m an angel of the L- I’m an angel. I have been traveling with Castiel.”

Dean’s eyes widened, striding closer to her. “How the hell- what’re angels possessing kids at Chuck E Cheese?”

“I assume you’re referring to my vessel’s age.” She said curtly, “I assure you that she is a very self-aware, thoughtful young girl who more than consented to my usage of her vessel. Even her guardians know and accept her decision.”

“I bet.” Dean’s eyes darkened. “So where’s Cas? Thought you guys were doing some important angel stuff, top secret.”

Ambriel cocked her head sideways, confused by the older brother’s bitter tone. “I… I regret to inform you that Castiel is in danger.”

Dean’s cocky grin melted into a deep frown, his eyes angry. “What do you mean?”

“I fear that he’s been taken behind angel wards by the demon Abaddon.”

Sam and Dean’s eyes widened. Sam paled as Dean took two steps forward and slammed his fist on the table. He cried out and clutched at his shoulder, which upon closer inspection was sporting bandages under his shirt. “God dammit Cas- God DAMMIT.”

“Dean,” Sam warned, “Your arm, man.” Dean ignored his bother and paced, rubbing his shoulder and gritting his teeth, resembling a caged tiger.

Ambriel crossed her arms, bored and confused by the two brothers’ strange coping mechanisms. “I assure you that God had nothing to do with it.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I see you’re fresh out of Bible Camp.” He grabbed the shotgun, immediately opening it and checking for rounds. Salt, she suspected. “You’re going to have to take me there. If it’s warded against angels you’re useless.”

Ambriel fought the urge to roll her own eyes. “I’m aware. Gather what you need. We must leave now.”

“Way ahead of you sister.” Dean snapped the gun shut and was heading towards her when Sam grabbed his unwounded shoulder, pulling him back.

They proceeded to have a whispered conversation that Ambriel was fully able to hear and comprehend.

“How do we even know she’s an angel?”

 “She just zapped in here Sam!”

“Ok, there’s a lot of stuff that zaps around! How do we know she’s not the one holding Cas and it’s all a trap?”

“Well I’m still not leaving Cas to die so what are my options?”

“At least- just check and make sure she’s telling the truth.”

Dean sighed and turned back to Ambriel. “How do we know you’re an angel? We’ve had this placed warded against angels.”

Ambriel snorted. “Please. Your chicken scratches wouldn’t keep cockroaches away, let alone celestial beings. I expect that’s on purpose though. Once you were desperately trying to keep an angel here, before he fell from grace and became one of you.”

She turned to Sam. “I know your ailment, Sam. Castiel mourns it, holds himself responsible for some reason. I’m often confused by his never-ceasing guilt. Nevertheless, he wishes to cure you. I want to help him achieve that goal. I need Dean’s help to do it.”

Sam’s face softened and he nodded.

Dean strode over to her, his eyes flaming. “Wait just a second, you don’t get to manipulate Sam in all this. It’s not his—“

 She cut him off before the words were out of his mouth.  “Your antics bore me, Dean Winchester. Do you wish to save your friend or not?”

Dean looked back at his brother, exchanging another silent communication. Sam walked over to a back table and rummaged through a black duffel bag, revealing a large knife with a wooden handle, carved to kill demons. Wordlessly Sam passed it to Dean, who tucked it into his boot. They nodded to each other and then Dean looked at Ambriel. Tired of the delay, she touched two fingers to his forehead and was once again flying through space and time.  

                                                               

* * *

 

Castiel woke up with a pounding headache and a dampness covering his clothes. He opened his eyes and took in the hot, orange flames that surrounded what used to be the ice rink.  _Holy Oil._  He had watched syndicated hockey games on television with Kevin and Sam, and recognized the plastic wall separating the rink from the seats, now covered in glowing markings he recognized as angel-proofing sigils. No angel was getting in or out.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

The voice was gravelly and quiet, catching him off-guard. Castiel jumpedin his hard, straight backed chair at the voice, so familiar and so different than what he remembered. Next to him was another identical chair with what looked like a heap of dirty black cloth resting on it. However, it turned toward him, revealing a pale face. The smile it wore was dark.

“My old partner. Back in business, I see.”

“Crowley,” Cas licked his parched lips, confused by the bitter dampness still covering his face.

Crowley nodded. “The very same. With a few adjustments.” He shifted in his seat, grunting in pain. Castiel noticed that he was chained to his chair and the ground with runed handcuffs. The former King of Hell had thinned down, his face a sallow and sunken mask covered in dirt and sweat.

Crowley saw him looking. “I know, I’m the prettiest princess at the ball.” He clanked his chains, adjusting in his seat. “Heavy, these are. Don’t think it’s fair that you get to move up and about.”

For the first time, Castiel looked down and saw that he wasn’t bound to his chair. He stood up, his head swimming a little and still pulsating with pain. A bitter, heady aroma filled his nostrils, one he recognized from working on cars with Dean.

“Gasoline.” Crowley proclaimed. “They lambasted you with it. Didn’t want you to try and hop over the flames. You can’t leave without setting yourself on fire, it’s why they didn’t bother tying you up.”

Castiel’s headache only increased. He ripped off his jacket, trying to rid himself of the toxic fumes that were poisoning his breath. He longed for fresh air. He turned back to Crowley.

“Are you…?” Cas gestured to himself as a coughing fit racked his body.

“Human?” Crowley finished for him. “I can’t say I know. Poor Sam never did finish what he started so who knows what I am now. Someone who cries at ASPCA commercials, that’s for sure. A nuisance to her highness.”

“Her highness?”

“Abaddon.” Cas nodded, Crowley continued. “She’s been making waves. Quietly, mind, I doubt even the Hardy Boys have gotten a whiff of it yet.”

Cas stumbled back to his seat, the heat and smell of gas making his legs wobbly. He fought to keep himself upright. “What kind of waves?”

Crowley shrugged. “Summoning mass amounts of demons, mostly. Buying out all of the big names downstairs. Taking my job, in short.”

“How is she doing this? What about the angels?”

Crowley blinked. “You really don’t know?”

Castiel impatiently shook head, too conscious of his heartbeat.

Crowley’s mouth settled into a hard line, and Castiel recognized it as pity. Slowly, Crowley nodded his head towards the far wall of the ice skating rink. The warding sigils shined brighter over there.

He got up slowly, testing his shaking legs. When they held him, he stumbled and limped over to the far wall. The closer he got, the more hot tears pricked at his eyes. He quickened his pace and almost fell before he reached the wall, sinking to his knees.

“No.” He whispered.

What had appeared to be sigils was actually an entire wall covered in bottles. Glass bottles, plastic bottles, diet coke bottles, mason jars, and Tupperware bowls with screw tops hanging from the plastic wall as if suspended by magic. The clinked and jangled together in a nonexistent breeze over the raging holy fire beneath them.

Grace filled each bottle, angels in their true forms forced to manifest and confine themselves to a tiny space. Some bottles held as many as ten angels, cramped and stuffed inside.

And the  _screaming_.

At first he couldn’t hear it, his human ears dulled by chloroform and gasoline but soon it became apparent. The angels wailed for home and freedom, the Enochian scratchy and foreign to his ears. He could still understand, however.

_Castiel._

_Traitor._

Castiel’s breathing deepened and hot tears pricked at his eyes. “No—I didn’t mean—“

“Cas!” Crowley called him back from across the room, his voice thick and foggy. Cas knew that the fumes were beginning to slow him down. Through his fog he struggled to comprehend the entirety of heaven, confined to nothing more than garbage. Used for their power. Sucked Dry. Then what? A few empty, broken bottles littered the ground before him.

A door slammed from the other side of the arena. “Well done, Castiel. I beg you to stay away from the fire though.”

Castiel growled low as he stood up to face the new voice. He recognized it from the loud speaker before he had passed out. A woman stood closer to Crowley, her dark hair heavy on her shoulders and her features hard and sneering.

“You.” He breathed out, reaching for a gun that was no longer there.

She shrugged her shoulders and looked up, feigning innocence. “You caught me, Cassie.” She laughed, throwing her head back, “And I would’ve gotten away with it too!”

Two pairs of rough hands grabbed his shoulders and dragged him back across the rink, depositing him unceremoniously back in his chair. The two demons moved back but flanked his chair on both sides. Abaddon circled him like a cat, playing with something small and dark in her fingers.

“You see Castiel, I could sit here and tell you my whole dastardly plot, but I think it’s pretty self explanatory. The only cog that doesn’t fit is you.”

Castiel flicked his eyes around, trying to find any weak spot in the holy fire. They still hadn’t tied him down.

Swiftly, Abaddon crouched down so that they were at eye level. “Eyes on the prize, kiddo. You are not getting out of here unless I let you and that… is highly unlikely. You see this?” She held up the small object in her spidery hand. A syringe. “It’s my blood. Quite a bit of it too.”

She straighten up again and continued to pace. “We started out giving Crowley a daily dose of it.  I was trying to give him back his  _bite_.” She rolled her eyes. “Forget it though. He  _still_  cries at pictures of kittens.”

Castiel glanced at Crowley. The former- king of hell’s face was paling and he shrunk down in his chair, as if trying to become invisible.

“But we did learn something, so it wasn’t a complete failure.” She flicked he finger at the syringe, popping the bubbles inside. “Adult humans just can’t tolerate demon blood in their bodies, unless they were regularly dosed with it as children. Like our favorite freak-of-the-week Sam Winchester.”

“Don’t speak about Sam Winchester.” Castiel growled at the demon.

“Oh so he can talk?” She asked her unresponsive demons. “Good, that means you can scream. But I don’t want to be crude. This really isn’t personal Castiel. I know you have angel buddies outside waiting for you. I know who they’ll go to once they figure out they can’t get inside.”

Cas swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “Dean and Sam aren’t stupid. And you shouldn’t underestimate them. Luring them here won’t do your cause any good.”

Quicker than he could see, she was in front of him again, both of her hands grasping the sides of his chair, caging him in. “Don’t manipulate me, you fallen  _scum_. You don’t have any cards to play.”

She relaxed, smiling sweetly. It made Castiel sick. She knelt down in front of him once more, snapping her fingers at the demons behind her. They immediately surged forward and grabbed Castiel’s shoulders, tethering him in place. He kicked out his legs uselessly, his muscles already logy from the gasoline. 

“You see, your best buddies shot me, dismembered me, sewed me back together, and then had the audacity to set my favorite vessel on fire.” She gestured at herself, “And I am  _so_  not a brunette.”

Abaddon ran the needle down Castiel’s arm, resting it lightly on the fleshy part of his inner elbow. His breathing came shallow now. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on a memory Dean’s face, smiling as they ran out of a seedy strip club in Maine all those years ago, but he only saw falling angels.

“Now you don’t have to worry,” She pushed the needle into his skin, he winced at the prick, “I made it myself.” She pushed the plunger down.

                                                            

* * *

 

“Okay,” Dean began, “You gotta tell me what’s here, ‘cause I don’t see a damn thing.”

A large hand passed over Dean’s eyes, and when Hadarniel stepped back Dean could see that the old brick walls were in fact covered in glowing blue sigils. 

“Jesus,” Dean exclaimed, eyeing the powerful wards, “You sent Cas in there  _alone?”_

“I can sense an additional layer of warding within the building,” Ambriel informed him, ignoring his comment, “As this is a 'rink' for human recreation, my hypothesis is that Castiel is being held within the inner ring.  The walls of the arena would be ideal for a second set of sigils.”

“Makes sense,” Dean grumbled, “So you need me to break the double-decker wardings.”

“And douse the ring of holy fire,” Ambriel said curtly, “I can feel its heat from here.”  Both angels’ faces were hard.  Ambriel could barely keep the disdain from her voice, and the looming Hadarniel had yet to say a word.  Dean wasn’t sure if it was him, or if they were just worried about Cas.  Hadarniel offered him a small slip of paper.

 “If you can disrupt this sigil on both sets of warding,” he spoke at last, his voice deep and rasping, “It should allow us entry, then we can aid you in Castiel’s rescue.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean agreed, twirling the demon knife in his fist.  The spray paint in his back pocket would handle the sigils, and the blade would take some of the edge off his anger.  Cas was definitely captured, probably hurt, and Dean was in sharp denial of the fact that he could be dead.  Time was of the essence. 

Spraying over the first sigil was easy.  Dean doubted the demon’s inside the building even noticed when the outer wards fell.  Of course they all noticed when he walked in through the front doors, sending a small bell jingling as he entered what looked like a foyer/snack area.  Probably about a dozen odd demons looked up, surprised.  Dean smirked.  Like they shouldn’t a guessed he was comin’.

“I think you got somethin’ of mine,” Dean announced into the room, “If you let him go we can all walk away.”

He wasn’t entirely surprised when three or four demons launched themselves at him.  The first fell to his knife, eyes flashing as Dean yanked the blade out of his gut.  These were big guys, clearly nabbed from a gym  _en masse_  or something, because there wasn’t a single one smaller than Dean.  He tried to duck a large set of arms that threatened to engulf him, slashing and hearing a satisfying yelp.  A third arm snaked around his neck, cutting off his air as Dean tried to cut himself loose.  A venomous hiss sounded in his ear.

“Winchester,” the voice practically purred, “We’ve been waiting for you.”

A flash of white light and an agonized scream later, and Dean found himself back on his feet as Ambriel twisted her sword deep into the demon’s torso. 

“Filth,” she growled, spinning to slam an open palm into another adversary, burning the demon clean out of its host.  Another demon screamed its last behind him, and Dean trusted that Hadarniel had joined the fray.  With both angels clearing out the foyer, Dean burst through the swinging doors that led to the open arena.

Two demons were on the ground before the doors were closed again, Dean taking advantage of his unexpected arrival.  It was a little scary how easily Dean was able to slice into human flesh, even though he knew the true faces of the monsters that hid inside.  It didn’t matter right now.  What mattered was getting to Cas, and clearing the road for the angels.

Dean grinned as he caught sight of a large lever, flakes of red paint still visible against the rust, with a barely legible sign still hanging doggedly overhead.   _In Case of Fire._

“Let’s see if this death trap is up to code,” Dean wondered to himself as he pulled hard on the aged handle.  An alarm went off somewhere deep inside the building, and after a few sputtering false starts the sprinkler system kicked in.  The water was grimy and rust colored, leaving a gross film where it slid down Dean’s skin, but he was willing to bet it was enough to take care of the holy fire lining the arena.  

“Nice of you to catch up,” Dean snarked.  Ambriel scowled, shaking dingy water out of her fair hair. 

“This is  _disgusting_ ,” she whined.  Hadarniel appeared beside her, taking the falling water in stride. 

“I suggest we do less complaining and more smiting, sister,” he admonished.  Dean grinned.  Hadarniel leveled a stern look at him.

“And you less gloating and more sigil breaking.”   Dean scowled and began scanning the high plexiglass partition surrounding the ice rink.  He didn’t need an angel telling him how to do his job.  Unless it was Cas.  Speaking of which…Dean pressed his nose to the glass, spotting the former angel, who was slumped in a chair in the center of the arena, along with…was that  _Crowley?_

“You didn’t tell me Crowley was here!” Dean shouted to Ambriel, who was engaged with a demon who must have outweighed her by a hundred pounds at least.  She overpowered him easily, slamming her blade into his chest before releasing it with a squelch. 

“The presence of one more demon didn’t seem relevant to Castiel’s rescue,” she told him.  Dean rolled his eyes and continued along the barrier until he spotted the correct symbol sprayed against the clear wall.  It was pulsing faintly in his aided vision and Dean fought his way over, slicing through two demons and trying not to cough up a lung as the extinguished holy fire gave of a cloud of acrid smoke.  Through the slight haze he could see the sigil was right next to the gate into the rink, and hanging above that…

“Holy shit,” Dean muttered to himself staring up at the sea of suspended bottles.  They were all glowing, some more faintly than others.  The whole set up was giving off hella creepy vibes, alternating rage and despair.

“My brothers and sisters,” Hadarniel said from right behind him, “You should hurry, that we might free them as well as Castiel.”

“Y-Yeah, right,” Dean stammered, pulling the small spray can back out to break the lines of the glowing symbol.  The writing all the way around the edge of the arena flashed red hot, then fell to a dull grey.

“Go,” Hadarniel ordered, “Ambriel and I shall stay back.  I believe she has a plan for eliminating most of the demon threat.  Should there be a trap to be sprung, I’m sure you are the intended target.  We are unexpected.”  Dean nodded.  Though he wasn’t sure how he felt about being bait, Cas was only a few yards away, and god knew what state he was in.  Dean scrambled over the partition, ignoring the twinge in his arm as he put more weight on his injury than he really should.  The closer he got to the former angel the more Dean’s gut twisted.  Cas was slumped in a metal chair, unrestrained, his skin deathly pale and practically white around his mouth from clenching his jaw. 

“Cas!” Dean called, but Castiel didn’t move.  He didn’t even twitch.  Crowley, bound next to him, was squirming in his seat, looking at Dean with revolting hope. 

“If it isn’t my second favorite Winchester!”  Dean ignored him to kneel in front of Cas, feeling at his neck for a pulse, and getting only a faint and sluggish beat under his fingers.  He tried slapping the angel, trying to jolt him awake, but Castiel’s head lolled loosely on his neck.  Crowley tutted at Dean’s frustration. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Dean demanded when Castiel didn’t respond.

“Well, there’s the gasoline poisoning, prolonged exposure to chloroform,” Crowley said with genuine remorse, “Oh yes, and he’s shot full of demon blood.”

“He’s  _what?_ ” Dean gasped, “He’s not-is he-“

“He’ll live,” Crowley assured him, “It’s not fun.  You might compare it to a bad trip on the worst kind of acid.  I’m trying to find some vindictive pleasure in it but of course I picked now to grow a bloody soul.”

 _Jesus Cas_.  Dean pushed the sweaty mop of hair off the former angel’s forehead, trying to meet Castiel’s unseeing eyes.  His hair had gotten a little longer and he looked thin, but Cas was still here.  It was gonna be okay.

“Dean Winchester,” a silky female voice spoke too close behind him, “I have just been waiting for you to make an appearance.”   _Abaddon._

“You  _bitch,”_ Dean began, spinning to face the Knight of Hell, “What are you doing to him?”

“You should really be more mindful of your insult choices,” Abaddon tutted, “This isn’t the fifties.” 

“Oh yeah?” Dean countered, “You stop beatin’ on my family and I’ll stop callin’ you names. Deal?”

Dean’s heart sank as he saw Abbadon was flanked by at least twenty more demons.  He wasn’t gonna be able to slice his way out of here.  Ambriel better have a plan up her teenie-bopper sleeve.

“Where’s your brother?” the statuesque demon asked instead, “Does little Sammykins still have the sniffles?  I bet all that Heavenly power is just doing marvels for his health.”

“Shut up,” Dean snapped, trying to cover Cas as much as possible from the demon Queen, “You don’t get to talk about him.”  Abaddon’s sneer was vicious and gleeful.   

“Pity,” she leered, “We had  _so much fun_  last time we saw each other.  I just wanted to show him how much I appreciated his little fireball routine.  I guess I’ll just have to wait for those trials to take their toll.”

Dean practically snarled, but he tried to keep himself under control.  The demon was clearly trying to get him riled up. 

“So what’s the big deal?” he asked, “Somethin’ tells me I didn’t just stumble into a tea party.”

“I am glad you asked,” Abaddon chirped, “This is my coronation celebration!  After I wrangle you into submission, we’re going to start the festivities: Killing the person you won’t admit you hold most dear!”  Dean’s face grew hot as the demons chuckled. 

“You’re not gonna touch him again,” Dean growled, pulling the demon knife from his pocket.

“Oh, but I am,” Abaddon assured him, “And you’re going to watch this time.  Do you like my decorations?”  The demon gestured to the wall of glowing bottles behind her.  “I really tried to set a mood with the lighting.”

“Yeah they’re real sadistic,” Dean smirked, “I don’t really think my friend cares for them, though.” 

“Hey!  Abomination!” Clearly name calling was just not part of the angel mojo, Dean thought as Ambriel called out.  Abaddon turned to look down at the small girl, who held one of the large glass jars of angel mojo in two hands. 

“Well if it isn’t the littlest angel,” Abaddon smirked, casting a condescending eye towards Ambriel’s vessel, “Don’t you have a Claire’s sale to get to?  I hear hair bows are buy one get one this week.”

Ambriel only quirked her head in confusion before raising the jar above her head and bringing it down on the cement with all her angelic strength.  Dean realized what her plan was just in time, clasping a hand over Castiel’s delirious eyes and slamming his own shut just before the freed Graces exploded in a flash of burning light.  From the frustrated screams around them Dean guessed Abaddon and her cronies had not been so lucky.  He heard the whoosh of smoke as the demons were forced to evacuate their hosts in order to escape the angelic rage.   As it was, the roar of the outraged angels was enough to bring Dean to his knees, taking all his willpower to keep a protective hand over Castiel’s vision.  He did his best to curl around the former angel and ride out the sonic boom.

Dean didn’t move again until a small hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him roughly.

“It’s done! It’s done!” Ambriel shouted shrilly, and Dean fights to hear over his dampened hearing, “We need to move.  The human police are no doubt on their way and I can’t teleport until we’re outside the inner sigils at least.”

Already the angel was pulling Cas from his chair, attempting to lift him, though at just over four and a half feet Ambriel was having a hard time keeping Castiel’s legs from dragging on the ground, despite her angelic strength. 

“Jesus, give ‘im here,” Dean grumbled, hefting his friend mostly over one shoulder in a fireman’s carry.  It would figure the closest he’d ever get to groping Cas’ ass was dragging him unconscious out of a demon nest.  They began to scramble back over to the wall of bottles and the exit when Crowley very loudly reminded them of his presence.

“Oi!  You’re not just gonna bloody leave me here, are you?”  Ambriel glared at the demon.

“You’re lucky we don’t kill you ourselves and save Abaddon the trouble,” she snapped.  The former King looked genuinely distraught, and Dean cursed under his breath.

“Cut him loose,” he commanded.  For a second Dean thought Ambriel’s eyes were gonna pop out of her head.

“Excuse me?”

“The human speaks wisely, Ambriel,” Hadarniel stepped into the inner rink, quickly crossing the laminate floor to slice through Crowley’s bonds, “A powerful demon filled with remorse could prove to be a wealth of information.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Dean agreed as Crowley stumbled to his feet.  Ambriel nodded finally.

“You won’t regret it,” Crowley promised, “I can teach you all kinds of delightful parlor tricks.”  Ambriel looked at Dean, as if to say “Whatever happens here is on your head.”

“We need to get Castiel to safety,” was all she said aloud, pushing forward.  The sprinklers had long run out of juice but the ground was still slick under Dean’s feet, especially with Cas’ weight throwing him off balance.  A long slow minute of struggling later Dean finally got one foot over the low partition gate, Crowley stumbling past him, before he noticed he’d lost his angel escort.  Ambriel was slicing through the knots holding the bottled Graces, letting them clatter to the floor.

“What are you doin’?” Dean asked as Ambriel gathered a few smaller bottles to her chest.

“Insurance,” she barked, “If the demons regroup my brothers can take care of it.  If not, we’ll release them once we’re safely away.” 

“Good idea,” Dean grudgingly agreed, “Had?  What about you?”

“That is not my name,” Hadarniel corrected him, “And I am going to remain here.  Once you are clear I intend to free my brethren from their confines.”

“The humans…”Ambriel began.

“I will only be a few moments,” the angel promised, “I am a protector of Heaven.  It is fitting that I should save our family, even outside of our home.”  Ambriel nodded, following Dean over the partition.

“You know where to meet us, brother,” She called back, then to Crowley, “I assume you know how to follow us.”

“Yes Madam,” Crowley nodded.  Ambriel rolled her eyes, then reached a hand up to Dean’s shoulder, tugging the three of them clean out of reality.   

 

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Cas was a dead weight as Dean laid him out on the worn hotel mattress.  A touch from Ambriel cleaned out the chloroform and gasoline, and Castiel’s breathing evened out as his lungs cleared.  Dean managed to tug off the former angel’s boots, and a wet washcloth did wonders for the soot and sweat sitting stagnant against Castiel’s skin.  Castiel was unmoving as Dean swiped the cloth roughly over his face and neck, his throat tightening as he carefully avoided the bruised needle prick where Abaddon had poisoned his friend.  Setting the cloth aside, Dean sat vigil beside Castiel, hesitantly brushing the hair back from his forehead.  Castiel’s eyes tightened at his touch, his mouth slack in a grimace of pain.  Ambriel had promised he would be alright, so all Dean could do was wait. 

“You stupid son of a bitch,” Dean whispered, thumb tracing the lines in Castiel’s brow, “You scared the shit outta me.”

                                                 

* * *

 

His body is paralyzed. Castiel can still feel the poison sitting in his veins, slowing his blood flow to a sluggish pace, diving into his mind and rooting out his pain to spread it evenly through his muscles, his blood, his bones.

He feels before he sees. Pain mostly. Pain courses through his legs and arms and settles with an unpleasant weight on his chest. He’s conscious of the ends of his body. His head, hands, and feet burn most of all.  But he is a prisoner in his own body, unable to cry out in pain.

Another’s skin touches his skin. A hand on his forehead. It feels rough, but not unpleasant. Back and forth it brushes feather light. Back and forth. The burn lessens.

A moment passes. The skin makes a scratching noise against his skin. He realizes he can hear too. A voice drifts close by. Tickles at his ear, pushes his hair back. The hand keeps moving as the voice lilts.

“You stupid son of a bitch.  You scared the shit outta me.”

Castiel clings to it, wills his essence closer to the voice. It’s familiar, and so strange.

“I haven’t been writing in your stupid journal so you could up and die.” The hand disappears for a moment, then reappears, touching Castiel’s own hand. The burn retreats from his hands and returns to his head. He supposes that compromises must be made.

“I wish I could say I was glad to see you.

“I wish…shit, I am so pissed at you.  Like, deep down,  _boiling_ mad.  If you weren’t already out cold I would probably knock you out myself but…you look the same.   _Christ_ you look the same.  It’s like you never even fucking left.  Like every time.” The voices chuckles, and through the pain, Castiel recognizes the sadness behind the sound. It sends an ache through his ravaged body. “Every time I think ‘that’s it, he’s finally gone’ and when I’m finally ready to let go you’re back and it’s like the bandaid’s been ripped off again.  And we never say anything.  We never say a goddamn  _thing_  and then it’s like you never left and I…forget.  i forget how much it sucks until you leave again.”

The hand takes Castiel’s hand in its own in earnest now, without giving up on its continuous stroking. “You need a haircut.  And a shave.  And to uh…open your eyes and stare at me until it makes me uncomfortable.  Ambriel says you’re gonna be okay.  So be okay.  Please Cas.  Look at me. There’s shit we need to talk about.  Things we probably should have talked about like two years ago, but I’m a... I'm no good at this shit, Cas, you know that.

“This is new Cas.  Everything is new.  And I’m as scared now as I was a month ago but I need you too much to go back. “

The heat retreats. Castiel feels his muscles relax slightly. He thinks that maybe he could sleep now. He hears breathing, and the rhythm is beautiful. Something he only remembers from dreams.

But he remembers that he can see.

His eyes peel open dryly, the light bringing more pain. It’s white. It’s orange. It leaves a residue on his skin. He tries to scratch it away.

“Cas- just take it easy-“

Castiel seizes up, drawing all his limbs to himself as the second presence registers. Tall. Male. Dean. His.

_His._

The voice. It isn’t comfort. It’s torture. Torture from her. Abaddon dug for his pain and painted it on his outsides to torment him. His voice, hidden from even himself, rips from his chest.

“Dean— you can’t be here- she’ll be back soon-“

Dean’s touch was poison. He couldn’t allow him to touch his hands. What other poison could Abaddon give him? Was he here? Was Dean Here? Was he dead? Had Castiel failed?

“My fault. All my fault. You couldn’t- you shouldn’t- don’t save me.” The sound of his own voice, harsh and underused, frightens him.

“Cas?” Dean asks. “Hey, it’s okay man-“

Cas wishes with all his pain for Dean to be an apparition. A  _something_ conjured to make him shout and cry out and not his  _someone_ summoned to his own death by a demon with an ex-angel in tow.

The wishing comes true. His eyes start to clear and Cas tries to see past Abaddon's trick. His hand takes Dean's again; impossibly cool, impossibly  _there._  The pain retreats. It moves from his hand to far-away places.

Maybe he could keep this Dean. Maybe he could keep him and make him real. Maybe he was real.

“Dean, how could you— how did you find me?” His voice trembles, but the sound is less frightening.

“Your angel friends got me, and we came and got you. Walk in the park.”   He smiles, his mouth relieved but his eyes still nervous. “You’re okay…yeah?”

“Ok… yeah…”

Cas can’t help but grimace some form of a smile through the pain. Dean meant safety. Dean meant home. Was he home?

His eyes flutter shut. Needles. Demons. Rough hands. He's there. He's still there. It's all a lie to lure Dean to Abaddon’s claws and it's his fault and Dean would die now.

The pain returns in a rush. He tries to throw it off, channeling it into whatever he’s gripping; he’s forgotten what it is. Abaddon swirls around the edge of his vision, filling up another syringe and grinning while she reassures him that  _Dean will be just fine when he’s dead._

“Youshouldn’tbehereyoushouldn’tbehereyoushouldn’tbehere— You have to get out Dean!” His voice is a scream now, toneless and without breath, “She’s here, she’ll do this to- do this to y-ARRRGGHHH” His screams only serve to enhance the pain. It condenses in his spine, forcing him to arch off the bed.

“Cas? CAS!” More hands are on him. Dean’s hands. They push, pull, hold him down. They’re soft on his face, hard on his shoulder. “Abaddon’s gone!  It’s not real!”

Does Dean know how in danger he is? That Abaddon is behind him with a syringe and a sickening grin? He wants to explain. His voice stutters like an old record.

“No no no NO. It’s a trick- you didn’t come- she’s here- killing angels…” Angels in jars. Angels in bottles. Empty bottles on the floor with dim grace barely sustaining. Broken bottles with nothing in them at all. He collapses back on the bed, sobs and tears emptying out of his body in salty streams that run into his mouth. “My fault… my fault…”

Hands. Hands on Castiel’s face. Dean’s hands were gentle and he wanted to lean into them. He could barely see Dean now.

“No no no no…” Dean moves in closer. Cas feels a new wetness fall onto his own face, salty tears that were not his own. A forehead resting on his while gentle hands stayed gentle. “Cas it’s me.  I’m here.   Remember?  The dick who pisses you off all the time and writes you stupid notes?” A laugh erupts, spilling more salty tears.  “For once it’s me bailing  _you_ out, I need you to snap out of it so I can gloat, ok?  C’mon Cas…”

Round and round and round Dean’s thumbs paint circles on Cas’s face as both their tears mingle. Dean is so close and staying close. The pain in his limbs can’t compare to the pain of having him close. Eyes flutter shut. Breaths shared. The memory of a kiss.

Dean had to go. He had to save Dean. The only way he knew how.

The human way.

He forces his hands to be rough. Push. Push Dean’s hands away. Push his face. Slip on tears. Push harder. Scream.

“No!! Don’t touch me! I- I don’t want- I don’t want you here! Get out! Just leave me ALONE!” Scream louder. Push.

Dean stumbles back. Cas pushes at air. “What?  No!  Cas—“

When he tries to return his hands Cas backs up further. His head smacks against the headboard. Ignore the pain. Screams. Push.

“You have to go! You’ll— you’ll ruin everything! I’m… I’m- I’m better without you…” Dean’s face contorts. Cas squeezes his eyes shut to block out the pain. Begging. Pleading now. “Please go….Dean…”

He hears Dean flinch. Hears the hitch in his breath. “What the fuck…please don’t…tell me something’s wrong.  Tell me something’s hurting you and I’ll go kill it.   Don’t tell me… _shit…”_

Cas can hear too much. See too much. He squeezes his eyes shut and claps his burning hands over his ears. He whispers so even he won’t have to hear.

“I wish I had never met you.”

                                                            

* * *

 

Dean had never wished to have his guts ripped out, but this was bringing him pretty damn close.  He needed an outlet, something physical to blame on the raw throb of pain that beat through him with every pulse of blood through his veins.

Cas didn’t want him.  Dean tried to keep his jaw from clenching, unfurl his hands where they had fisted tightly at his sides, and believe.  Castiel had his free will, his humanity, and a new life.  Why would he want the Winchester curse to come and fuck it all up for him?  Demon poison didn’t have Castiel sobbing in a ball on the mattress.  Dean’s hands, Dean’s  _touch_  had done that.  Castiel didn’t call him here for help.  Castiel didn’t want him here. 

He remembered the flutter of hope in his chest as he had finished his last letter to Cas, and Dean buried it, leaving Castiel alone in the room to forget him and heal.  Just outside he found Ambriel waiting, keeping a close eye on a roughed up but conscious Crowley.  Her face was carefully level, and Dean didn’t have to guess that she’d heard everything Cas had said, and probably a little extra.  Angels and their mind mojo.  Dean schooled his own features, staring Ambriel down as he closed the door softly behind him.

“Somethin’ you want to contribute?”  

 Ambriel only stared for a long moment, and Dean wished he could tamp down on the boiling emotions just below his skin.  He would manage later, once he’d cleaned out the bunker’s liquor cabinet, but for now it was too fresh.  Let her see, Dean thought bitterly.  Ambriel twitched at his thought, confirming his suspicions. 

“I know this is difficult,” she said at last, “But it would seem that he is unable to recover with you present. I think… leaving would be best. I would be happy to return you home.”

“Just get me outta here,” Dean entreated, “Let him get better.”  Ambriel nodded, her gaze flicking to the demon King.  Crowley’s eyes were downcast, but he had obviously shifted closer to Dean in the last few seconds.  Dean sighed.  It would be safer for everyone to take Crowley back to the bunker where they could keep an eye on him.  Didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Well? You stayin’ or goin’?” Dean spat at the former King of Hell.  Crowley looked affronted, but Ambriel was relieved.  The road was no place to try and bring a wanted demon.

“I suppose I’ll tag along, since you promise to be  _such_  charming company,” Crowley pouted. 

“Take it or leave it, pal.”  Ambriel stepped between them, ending a potential spat. 

“Thank you, Dean,” she admitted, “Without your help, Castiel would have surely been lost.”

Castiel was lost to Dean either way, but he acknowledged the angel’s thanks with a curt nod before she tapped him on the forehead and the floor fell from under his feet.


	14. Chapter 14

Castiel woke almost blinded by white light. He rubbed his eyes, waiting as they adjusted to the bright sunlight filtering in through a dirty window next to his bed. Where was he? A quick look around indicated a generic hotel room. The air was still and the room stuffy. Someone had removed his shoes and covered him with a blanket thrown on top of a scratchy comforter.

He was filthy. Dust mixed with sweat caked his skin, and his clothes were stiff with it. Pain pulsed through his head and shoulders, but it was dull and fading. He stumbled out of bed, clutching the night stand for support as blood rushed to his head, making the room spin. Black and blue spots speckled his vision. He stumbled towards an open door on the other side of the room, assuming it was the bathroom. He fumbled to turn the light on and grimaced at his reflection.

Tear tracks cut through the dirt on his face, leading up to eyes that were red-rimmed and swollen. A nasty looking bruise bloomed from the collar of his t-shirt, outlined with three or four messy puncture wounds.  He splashed warm water on his face and neck, watching the water come away brown and dingy. After toweling off he entered the empty room once again, checking to be sure the door was locked.

He had no memory of arriving here. Memories flashed through his mind in the form of light and sound, never a clear picture. A wall covered in angel grace. Crowley, tied to a chair next to him. A syringe full of dark liquid. The plunger pushing poison into his body. Screams. Hands holding him down. Then nothing.

Where we  _his_  angels?

As if answering his question, he heard a rustle outside the door. Wings? And then familiar voices. He pressed his ear up to the door, straining to hear the exchange.

“I don’t support this, Ambriel.”

“That’s fine, Hadarniel, because I do  _not_  need your permission.”

“You need me to keep up the act.”

“It’s not an act. It’s what’s best for Castiel.”

Castiel heard an exasperated noise. “I’ll be back later. He’s awake inside.” Another swish, and then Castiel could hear a key jiggling in the doorknob. He retreated to the other side of the room, trying to appear as though he was examining his fingernails with intense concentration.

Ambriel strode in, pocketing the rusted motel key.  “Good, you’re awake. How are you feeling?” Her smile was minimal, but present.

Cas cleared his throat. “Like I was injected with a large amount of demon blood.”

Ambriel nodded, acknowledging his statement of fact. “It seems to have worked out of your system. You wouldn’t be upright if it was still affecting you.”

Castiel shrugged, sitting back down on the corner of the bed. “What happened?” If the state of his clothing was any indication, it had not been an easy escape. “After I was drugged, I mean.”

She clasped her hands behind her back. “Hadarniel and I were able to find a way through the angel proofing. We found where she was keeping you and I removed you while Hadarniel destroyed the jars and the spell keeping the angels hostage.”

Castiel squinted at her. “So… the angels…”

“Are free,” she finished for him, “And Abaddon and her demons blown away. Safe to say that she will not be emerging again for a while.”

Cas nodded, wincing as pain washed through his head again. Behind his eyes he saw a white light, angel fire, and couldn’t shake the sensation that someone was covering his eyes. Was it a memory? A hallucination left over from the demon blood?  And were those green eyes watching him? He felt the shadow of calloused fingers caress his hand, immediately shaking his head to clear it.

Looking up, he saw Ambriel staring out the window, her back to him with her hands clasped behind her back. Always a soldier.  “Ambriel… I apologize for not listening to you. I could have jeopardized the whole mission. Thank you. For saving me.”

He couldn’t see her face, but Ambriel’s shoulders tensed. “No thanks necessary Castiel, though I accept your apology. The angels are free now, that’s the most important thing.”

Something nagged at the back of Castiel’s skull. “Yes… Though I can’t help but pity all the new vessels.”

“They still need to consent.” She turned around. “It’s a good system. The only one we have right now.”

Castiel remained silent. He thought of his own vessel- beaten, bruised, stuffed full of leviathan, dragged through purgatory and out again and then… nothing. Falling from the sky had brought a loneliness to his mind that he hadn’t known in years. Jimmy was gone.

 “I suppose I should let you rest,” Ambriel continued, interrupting his thoughts, “We’ll depart as soon as you feel well enough to drive.”

Castiel nodded, internally dreading the cramped feeling of being in the car with two angels. He didn’t feel much inclined to climbing back into the scratchy motel bed either. He knew he should write to Dean, his last letters had been sufficiently cryptic and Dean was surely angry at him.

He made his way towards the door, remembering his journal stowed away in his vehicle’s glove compartment. “I’ll rest as soon as I write to Dean—“

Ambriel was in front of him with a swish. “You should rest first. The hunter can wait a little longer.”

He furrowed his brow. “Ambriel, I wish to write to Dean, let me go get my journal.”

Before he could back away, she slowly raised two fingers to his forehead, her face stern. “Rest first.”

* * *

 

_Cas?  Are you up yet?_

_…_

_Please, tell me you didn’t mean that shit.  It’s okay, we’ve all done the demon spell-warping our emotions thing.   Just let me know, man._

_…_

_Oh god, you meant it.  Cas, come on I know I’ve screwed up, but I’ve pulled my weight, right?  I played nice with your angels when Ambriel asked.  I came and got you from that torture chamber.  We saved the angels’ Grace and stopped Abaddon and all that, but you gotta know it was all for you.  Everything was for you.  Please, buddy.  Talk to me._

_…_

_No moree Cas.  No more.  I won’t mess anythin’ else up for you.  Ambriel and Had can take care of you, she made that ~~crtsya~~   ~~crista VERY~~ clear when I left.  In fact, maybe you should have left me in Hell where you found me, and maybe your life wouldn’t be such a wreck now.  Coulda still had your wings, CAsTIEL, if oyou hadn’t started rollin’ in the mud with us humans.  Would probably be hurtin’ less about now, though maybe that’s just me.  Maybe you’re just fine, laughin’ it up at Dean WiNChester and the hole in his chest that he hasn’t been able to fix since he pushed you away. _

_Goodbye Castiel, non-Angel of thee Lord,_

_Dean Winchseter_

Dean knocked back another glass of scotch as he scrawled his name at the bottom of the page.  Maybe it was uncouth to get shitfaced out of a crystal tumbler, but hey, blame it on his upbringing.  A few stray drops landed on his writing, beading bright gold on the creamy paper.  Dean tried to dab it up before it smudged the pages, but his hands weren’t workin’ too good and besides, he didn’t care.  The journal closed with a slap that Dean felt in his bones.  He shook his head and sought out the decanter for another splash, though it turned into more of a river as Dean filled the glass.

“I thought you didn’t drink anymore.”  Dean put the bottle down heavy as Sam made his way up the few steps to the library.  He was still pale, and leaning more of his weight on the safety railing than Dean liked. 

“You should be in bed, little brother,” Dean grumbled, the liquor burning nicely as it slicked down his throat.

“I’m worried about you.”

“Why?” Dean demanded, plastering on a jaw aching grin, “I’m celebrating!  Cas is safe, he’s makin’ friends, he doesn’t want anything more to do with us…”  His smile disappeared quicker as he’d slapped it on, and Dean suddenly found the contents of his glass freakin’  _fascinating._

“What?”  Sam looked confused, “That doesn’t sound like Cas.”

“Sounded like him when he said it.”  Dean frowned.  There was somethin’ not quite right with that sentence.  Whatever.  A bead of scotch still clung to the bottom of his glass and Dean watched it track back and forth as he swirled it.  It was hypnotic.  Comforting, really.

“Dean.” 

“What?” Dean snapped.

“What actually happened?” Sam asked, dropping into the chair beside Dean.

“I already told you,” Dean sulked. 

“No,” Sam corrected, “You poofed into the war room, practically bit Kevin’s head off when he asked about Cas, threw Crowley in the dungeon ‘for safe keeping’, and you’ve basically been in here with that bottle ever since.  Tell me, Dean.”

“Abaddon,” Dean mumbled, “She…she shot him full of demon blood.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Sam breathed. 

“Yeah.  Well, we got ‘im out, and Ambriel was tellin’ me he was gonna be okay,” Dean continued, “Cas starts comin’ round and I’m there with him.  Just, the minute he figures its actually me he flips  _shit_  man, worse than that time with Alfie and Naomi.  Like, full on waterworks and beggin’ me to get out.  Tells me I’ll ruin everything.  Tells me…tells me he’s better off without me.”  He must have drank too much, ‘cause his voice is gettin’ rough.  And when did his head end up in his hands?  A hand lands solid on his shoulder, Sam’s giant paw a warm and steady weight against his swimming vision.  Dean had to laugh despite himself. 

“I tell you what Sammy,” he admitted, “Ever since Purgatory, my tolerance is absolute shit.”

“I think we could both use some rest,” is all Sam said.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “Yeah okay.  You need any help?”

Sam’s smile is bare and sad. 

“Sure Dean,” he said, rising and offering Dean a hand up, “I can always use some help.”

 

* * *

 

… _Goodbye Castiel, non-Angel of thee Lord,_

_Dean Winchseter_

 

Castiel never understood why diner patrons felt the need to talk so  _loud_. Most of the time he enjoyed the sound of laughter. But it was too hot. The air too still. And Dean had rescued him from Abaddon and Ambriel had let him believe that he hallucinated it all. The eyes had been Dean’s and the touch his alone. Dean had carried him out of the arena, brought him to safety, and then disappeared, only to resurface in a hurt, seemingly drunken letter.

He was missing crucial information and would seek it out from the source.

 Castiel set his pen down slowly, staring at Ambriel while she read the newspaper, seemingly innocent. His ears burned as he watched her, and if he didn’t already have an excuse to loathe her while she accomplished mundane activities, he did now.

Ambriel’s eyes had followed him as he took the journal from the glove box and carried it into the diner with them. She still watched him out of the corner of her eye when he opened it after the waitress took their breakfast order (pancakes for Castiel, coffee for the angels). As he read the words her gaze drifted away, landing on a random local newspaper the last customer left behind. He tried to catch her eye now, but she appeared engrossed.

“Castiel?”

Hadarniel’s voice broke through his thoughts, snapping his concentrated rage. “Yes?” He spat.

The older angel’s brow knitted together. “Are you alright?”

Castiel forced a smile on his face, nearly splitting his skin in half. “Of course. Thank you for your concern.” He snatched his keys and the journal from the table and stood up. “Ambriel, could I speak with you outside, in private?”

Ambriel looked up from her paper as if she hadn’t been listening and watching all along. He loathed how her eyebrows raised as she nodded silently and how her pink pants stood in blinding contrast to the beige and white of the diner.

Outside, the day was drizzly and hot, the sky a creamy white. Ambriel followed him wordlessly, stopping with him when he halted next to the Cavalier. She squinted in confusion while he flipped through the pages of his journal, arriving at one near the middle and shoving it at her to read.

She took the book slowly and scanned the page. “I don’t understand,” she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes, “The strange communication between you and Dean Winchester remains an enigma to me, what are you trying to tell me?”

Castiel laughed, a bitter taste stinging the back of his throat. “You feign ignorance so well, Ambriel.” He turned away, crossing his arms.

He heard the crunch of the gravel as she stepped toward him. “Castiel-“

“Dean is drunk,” he continued, “To explain the poor handwriting and spelling. I imagine that’s the only reason he’s even speaking to me. Something tells me you know the reason behind his anger.”

He turned around to look at her, and her young face halted his anger for a moment. But through her eyes he knew she was no child, but an ancient creature that proved to be far from human.

“You were hurt, Castiel. In a way I couldn’t heal. I wanted you to be able to heal without stress. I don’t regret my decision,” she explained, her voice sounding flat and thick in his ears.

“What decision?”

Ambriel looked around, itching to fly away. “You walked into that arena without any thought as to how dangerous it was. How you put us all in danger. You let your emotions and your  _hero complex_ get the better of you and then  _I_ had to fix it.” Her voice rose in volume, and she planted her hands on her narrow hips. “The wards were sound, we needed a human. I only knew of one who would help us. So I went and got your Winchester. I asked him for help I knew he would give.”

Castiel laughed bitterly, his lips curling under his teeth. “I would never want you to bring Dean in this. You had no right—“

“I did what I had to. To  _save_  you. I called Dean and he carried you out of there while Hadarniel smashed the bottles holding all the angels, that much was true. We got you back to the hotel. You were mostly unconscious.”

“Mostly? Were you lying about the demon blood too?” he spat.

“I wish, Castiel.” Ambriel shivered as the rain began to fall in earnest. “We got you to safety. And when you came to you were half out of your mind. I stood outside. Dean tried to bring you back to yourself, talk you out of it, but it was hopeless. You could see Abaddon, you thought she was holding Dean hostage. You said hateful things to him. I imagine it was to get him to leave the imagined danger.”

Cas exhaled, his lungs deflating. “And you… you let him go?”

She nodded, her eyes locked with his. “I did what was best. His presence was causing you duress. You needed rest for the demon blood to run its course.”

He turned away, letting his eyes fall shut. “I… want to believe that you have the best intentions, Ambriel.”

“My intentions are to help our family, Castiel. You running after Dean Winchester is hardly our objective.”

He nodded, pursing his lips. “So letting me believe that I was hallucinating him seemed like the best alternative to you?”

“Yes. It was the best decision for our mission.”

“Our  _mission?”_  Castiel’s voice cracked. He whipped around to face her again. “What mission, Ambriel? The angels are free. They’re ransacking host bodies as we speak, and taking lives away from innocent humans who have no  _idea_  what they are saying yes to.” He looked down at himself, sighing.

“We can help, just let me-“

“And now Dean-“ He swallowed hard. “Dean thinks that I…” He turned away again, bracing his hands against the roof of his car, not letting her see the muscles of his face jerk and twist.

“I want to save our family, Ambriel. Our home.” He ran a hand through his own hair, pulling hard enough to sting. “But I can’t just forget about the one I’ve made here on Earth. I’ve already ruined so much.”

Ambriel sighed and strode over to Castiel, facing him with her piercing hazel eyes. “Listen.” She said with finality. She pushed his journal into his chest with a  _smack_ , snatching his car keys from his hands.

With surprise Castiel turned and watched as she keyed open the trunk to his car, rummaging around until she found what she was searching for.

She held up a faintly glowing jar. His stomach dropped and bile rose into his throat.

“Is that-“

She held up a hand to silence him. “Please. Just listen. Go back into the diner and get Hadarniel. He has to explain something to you. And then I’ll tell you my plan.”

“Your plan?”

“To save Sam Winchester.”


	15. Chapter 15

After more bickering, most of which consisted of Cas mumbling his complaints while Ambriel rolled her eyes with precision, Castiel fetched Hadarniel from the diner. The older angel didn’t even need a word. When he spotted Castiel, he followed him outside to the car, where they settled in the backseat.

“I’m going to show you how I came to be in this body,” Hadarniel said quietly. He raised two fingers to hover in front of Castiel’s forehead.

“May I?” he asked.

Castiel was surprised to be asked permission. He slowly nodded his head, straining his eyes to watch as the hand descended to his forehead.

* * *

 

**Abbadon’s headquarters, just outside St. Louis, Missouri:  June 20, 2013**

There was darkness.  Hadarniel had not known darkness in centuries.  Even knocked down by Castiel in his ill-gotten godhood, Hadarniel’s eyes and mind had been flooded with the light of Heaven.  Such was the reward of a Gatekeeper, to bask eternally in Heaven’s radiance until a call to arms was issued.  No such call had been sounded, and yet now Hadarniel found himself surrounded by a wicked and polluted darkness.

He reached out with the tendrils of his un-vesseled Grace, only to withdraw at the cutting touch of the razor that surrounded him on all sides.  He puzzled briefly over the nature of his imprisonment.  It was not the heat and burn of holy fire, but the invisible slice and sting of a thousand blades at the fringes of his Grace.  No human blade could touch him, obviously.  Some spell was at work here, and Hadarniel drew tightly within himself, to observe.

The darkness writhed, the blades pressed closer, and in his agony Hardarniel’s vision sharpened and he could see the contorted faces of demons, grotesque features still visible behind their human masks.

“Ah, it awakens.”  The voice is pain, sacrilege and blasphemy disguised in a human woman’s low hum.  A Knight.

“It is no matter, begin the process.”  A Knight of Hell.  He is captured.  Hadarniel cries out to his Father for deliverance, but it is in vain.  The Father expects his children to find their own liberation.  The knives press closer as the red words of the Knight fill his ears, and Hadarniel falls within himself, searching for escape.  A Father doesn’t abandon his children.  Hadarniel has what he needs, he just needs to wait for revelation.  The Knight’s words grow sharper, and suddenly the blades retract as a heat begins to thrum within his Grace. 

What the plot at hand is Hadarniel does not know, but this heat, this energy, is  _his_.  It is part of him and he will use it.  As the circle of imprisonment expands Hadarniel reaches, and to his own shock it is with a human hand that he stretches out.  His Grace contracts, thudding inside a racing heart as two feet thud upon the ground.  Hadarniel heaves a breath, filling human lungs for the first time as he observes his new Vessel, created from nothing.  Thanks be to God.

Hadarniel throws back his head and roars with his true Voice, the demon wardings harmless against the insulation of his human Vessel.  The Knight screams back, and Hadarniel’s vision swims, but it is enough.  The floor on which he now stands shudders and cracks under the force of his power, causing the sigils to vaporize.  He spreads his wings and flies.  

* * *

 

Castiel slammed back into his own mind, panting from the exhilaration. He shut his eyes tight and focused on slowing the spinning. To be inside an angel’s mind again, even for moment, was disorienting. The sensation of flight had become unfamiliar.

“So,” he addressed the fallen angels, his voice rough and shaking, “If your vision is correct, I’m to believe that your grace  _created_  its own vessel?”

Hadarniel nodded, stoic. “Not a vision, brother, a memory. Abaddon was trying to perfect her spell, and in doing so charged my grace to an extent where it was able to materialize on the physical plane. Her abominable acts worked in my advantage.”

Castiel attempted to wrap his mind around this revelation. “If angels could have their own vessels… then human vessels would no longer be needed.”

“Checkmate, genius.” Ambriel muttered from the front seat, having been silent for too long.

Fighting the urge to shoot her a venomous look, Cas continued, “I still don’t see how this will help Sam.”

Hadarniel start to speak again, but was cut off by Ambriel. “Sam Winchester is plagued with a dangerous mixture of demon blood and toxins from the hell trials. He requires purification. I believe that angels, in this state, are the purest beings on earth, untouched by the humans that were once their vessels.”

Castiel felt the pieces click into place. A theory, proposed by Dean what seemed like years ago.  _There’s a section that talks about an object, the best Kev can make it out it’s called the “Crown of Twelve Stars”, but he says it’s meant for “cleansing”, or like a shield against evil._ Something biblical, thought to only exist in myth.

“The Crown of Twelve Stars,” he whispered to himself, loud enough to be heard by angelic ears.

“Precisely,” Hadarniel said, “Twelve angels in their true forms, walking the earth, will purify Sam Winchester with a simple laying of hands. This is what our Father intended for us on Earth.”

“To be agents of change, not violence,” Ambriel mused, staring out the window.

Castiel’s heart pounded beneath his ribs. They could save Sam. He felt a swell of hope, and an almost painful longing for  _home._  A home with piles of books and papers littering the table, simple food cooking in the kitchen, and the possibility of seeing Dean’s smile again.

A small, selfish part of him pricks at the back of his mind.  _If you save his brother, Dean will let you come home._

                                                          

* * *

 

After a day, Castiel stowed the journal in his glove box again, his numerous replies to Dean ignored. He imagined his journal’s companion was thrown unceremoniously under Dean’s bed or tucked away on a bookshelf of Sam’s where he wouldn’t have to see it. Maybe he even threw it away.

More images began to crop up in his head, some vivid, others dim and murky, as if he watched them underwater. Soon he realized that they were his own memories, warped and distorted from the effects of the demon blood. He saw Abaddon leaning over him, filling up another syringe while his own screams echoed off the arena walls.  He felt himself being lifted from his chair and swung over a shoulder, the fabric of Dean’s canvas jacket scratching at his nose. Dean setting him down gently on the hotel bed.

Ambriel assured him multiple times that her plan was sound. They would “cure” the angels, and in doing so they would cure Sam. Castiel’s hand itched to write Dean about it, tell him that he could save his brother. A small part of him, a selfish part that made him quiver with shame, wanted Dean to ask him to come home. Without any reason.

Cas kept writing to Dean, despite the lack of replies.

                                                            

* * *

 

Castiel realized that a hotel room was probably not the best place to perform the ritual needed to force the manifestation of an angelic vessel. After driving aimlessly, trying to form some kind of a plan, Ambriel quietly offered herself up as a test subject. Hadarniel would say the words that would allow her to form her own vessel.

Castiel knew Ambriel was the most obvious choice. His guilt was unnecessary, but his comment about angels  _ransacking host bodies_ hung fresh in the air. He longed to explain that his comment was not directed at her, but the words didn’t make it out of his mouth.

The drive out to the country was mostly silent. Ambriel stared out the window while Hadarniel sat with his hands folded in the back seat. Castiel was grateful for the distraction driving brought, though he was well adjusted enough to drive and think at the same time.

Ambriel perked up as soon as they were out of the city limits and entrenched in countryside. “I’ll look out for a clearing of some kind,” she declared, still looking out the window. Dusk settled over the trees, framing the narrow country road, evening sunlight rich and yellow through the leaves. August started balmy and hot but the creeping cold of autumn put a chill in the nighttime air.

“There,” Ambriel said, pointing out the window to a wall of trees, “About a half a mile in should be a clearing large enough.”

Castiel slowed to a stop, anxious about leaving his car unattended on the side of an obscure road. “It’ll be fine,” Ambriel reassured him, reading his thoughts or his facial expression, he couldn’t say, “We’ll be back as soon as it’s over.”

Cas nodded, stepping out into the cool, humid air to follow Ambriel. He grabbed the plain flannel bathrobe from the backseat, purchased extra large in preparation for whatever Ambriel’s vessel turned out to be. Hadarniel trailed close behind them, dark eyes darting back and forth. While the angels walked smoothly and without interruption, Castiel slipped and tripped over protruding tree branches and piles of wet leaves, swearing under his breath.

Fifteen minutes passed, and Castiel knew that he would be covered in mosquito bites come morning. But, as Ambriel promised, they emerged in a large clearing covered in tall, bristly grass a few minutes later. For whatever reason, trees had chosen to grow elsewhere, leaving a large expanse of sky above them. The setting sun colored the sky a deep purple, with tiny pinpricks of stars beginning to reveal themselves.

Hadarniel followed him into the clearing. “This is a holy place,” he whispered reverently.

Castiel glanced at Ambriel. Her face tilted up towards the sky, her hands clenched in fists and her hazel eyes glassy. Her throat flexed as she swallowed. “Let’s just get this over with.” Her voice was quiet but assertive.

Castiel opened his mouth to protest, tell her that they would find another way. He knew how it felt to lose his vessel. Jimmy Novak’s body remained, but he had no idea where his soul resided. But Ambriel wasn’t losing her vessel, she was giving her  _back_. He let his mouth close, nodding silently instead.

Hadarniel stepped forward, taking the younger angel by the hand to steer her to the middle of the clearing. “I’m going to have to remove your grace from your vessel. You will be in your true form, and feel discomfort from the sensory overload. There will be pain. I must ask you to refrain from flying away in this stage, as it will be hard to find you again.”

Ambriel nodded, and for the first time Castiel noticed the roundness of her face and the legs that were too long for the rest of her body. For once, Ambriel looked  _young_.

Hadarniel turned toward Castiel. “When Ambriel leaves her vessel, you must take the girl and move her body out of the way. Most likely, she will be unconscious. Keep her safe while we perform the ritual.”

“Of course,” Castiel said, trying to reassure the now trembling Ambriel.

When she spoke, her voice shook. “If she wakes up, tell her not to be scared. And that I’m sorry and will always be there for her. She’s sleeping right now, or else I would tell her myself… Her name is Liz. She despises the nickname Lizzie. Can you remember that?” she trailed off, meeting Castiel’s eyes with a dewy burn.

He nodded. “I can.”

Ambriel turned back to Hadarniel. “Ok, what else?”

Hadarniel continued. “Once you are exposed, I will begin the binding spell Abaddon attempted to use on me. There will be more pain and a feeling of enclosure. Fight against it, use your own grace against it, and your vessel will manifest.”

Ambriel rolled her eyes. “Well, thank you for your vague instructions.” Castiel was momentarily relieved to see a glimmer of the younger angel’s old self.

Hadarniel’s face remained stoic as he clapped a hand over her slim shoulder. “This is serious, Ambriel. Do not let the sensation overwhelm your sense.”

Ambriel nodded, her expression now somber. She turned to look at Castiel, and he met her eyes, trying to pass his strength on to her, however meager and human it may be. The corner of lips quirked up in a half smile, and he felt an instant rush of affection for his young friend.

She turned back to Hadarniel. Her voice was steady. “Just get on with it.”

Castiel could only watch as Hadarniel braced a hand against Ambriel’s shoulder, reaching out to her with his other hand. He pressed it against her abdomen, and with a silence that was deafening, Hadarniel’s hand sank into her.

Ambriel’s head snapped back as her eyes lit up white, grace pouring from her in waves. Her mouth dropped open, light forcing its way out, her throat spazzing with tension. Hadarniel held on to her, keeping her from falling, but Castiel felt a jolt to go closer, to  _protect_  and help. To push the older angel away from her because she shouldn’t have to feel hurt.

He held himself back, however, and could only watch in awe as her true self took shape. Ambriel was small, a young angel in comparison to himself and Hadarniel, but no less grand. He knew that her form was much more complicated than his human mind could comprehend, stretching out miles and constantly shape-shifting, but now he saw a vaguely humanoid shape form. Arms and legs grew from a shifting torso, stretched out wide. A face took shape, with a mouth and eyes and small ears.

Dazzled by the enigmatic being before him, Castiel just barely heard Hadarniel shouting his name. He shook his head to clear it, finally noticing the crumpled body at Ambriel’s feet. Shielding his eyes, he moved closer. Crouching beside the girl, he noted that her eyes were closed and her limbs limp. Feeling for her wrist, he was relieved to find a strong pulse beating against her skin. Cradling her small form in his arms, he returned to the shelter of the trees.

He held the girl close, shading her eyes from the burning light. Whether his former angelhood protected him, he didn’t know, but looking at Ambriel’s grace uncloaked brought him no pain. Slowly, Hadarniel began to chant in low tones. The spell sent a shiver down his spine; it spoke a slow, ancient language of binding and power, energy and darkness.

Ambriel’s grace pulsed, the light dimming slightly and then surging brighter than ever. Hadarniel’s voice was hard and powerful as he chanted louder. Castiel felt a vibration through the ground, pulsating through his entire body. A rushing noise filled his ears as the light brightened to a point where he had to bury his head into the crook of his elbow and squeeze his eyes tight against the burning heat—

Just as quickly as it began, it was gone. Silence fell over the grove as Castiel lifted his head, temporarily seeing spots, as if he had stared at the sun for too long. He stood up on shaking legs, realizing dully that he still carried Liz’s small form in his arms. He carefully set her down, back against a tree, so he could turn and walk towards Ambriel.

She wasn’t  _that_ much different, if he was being honest. It appeared that her grace simply took the idea of Liz’s body and aged her by twenty years. Her face was slimmed down, void of baby fat, and her hair hung straight and dark blond down to her shoulders. She remained short in stature but appeared strong, her arms and legs muscled and her female body curved at sharp angles.

Blushing, he looked away, realizing that as an adult human he shouldn’t gawk at anyone’s naked body without their consent. He heard a snort in response.

“Honestly Castiel,” said a rich female voice, “Just bring me the robe, will you?”


	16. Chapter 16

Seven days passed at an excruciating crawl.  Sam’s fever was inchin’ its way back up to a constant one-oh-four, and Kevin was practically in a tablet coma, nothing to be heard from his room but the rustling of papers and the hollow chiming of the empty red bull cans as he shuffled back and forth to his various notebooks.  That left Dean.  Surly, heartbroken, and painfully sober, the disappointment in Sam’s eyes and the blinding hangover the next morning having been more than enough to keep Dean from dipping back into their whiskey stockpile.  He kept at it, trying to keep Sam and Kevin alive while dragging Castiel’s rejection around like a pair of shackles around his ankles. 

And then there was Crowley.  The former King of Hell was toeing the line between villain and victim, still snarky enough at times for Dean to want to put a boot in his ass, but at others so despondent that it became clear that leaving him isolated in the dungeon indefinitely would be, to quote Sam, “inhumane”.  Just peachy.  Abaddon’s marks were still livid on his skin, so whatever healing factor Crowley had was either gone or he was workin’ real hard to fake it.  A solution came from one of the dusty memorabilia boxes of the Men of Letters: demonic handcuffs.  Whether Crowley was lying or not the cuffs would keep him mortal and hobbled enough that even Kevin could fight him off if it came to it.  So they brought him upstairs, shoved him in one of the empty bedrooms with the strong impression that he should spend most of his time there, and left the demon to it.

Crowley of course went where he pleased, and so the bunker gained a shadow, flitting in and out of rooms as it suited him.  Dean figured he spent most of his days herding the demon away from the sensitive rooms, checking his pockets for stolen gadgets.  Luckily Crowley spent most of the time complaining, so Dean knew exactly where he was.

On the seventh evening after he brought Crowley to the bunker, Dean walked into the library to see the former demon leafing through Castiel’s journal, pretty as you please. 

“What in the hell are you doing?” Dean demanded, grabbing the journal and smacking Crowley upside the head with it before cradling it to his chest away from the demon’s beady eyes. 

“I was promised a sandwich,” Crowley informed him coolly, “I got bored, and your little book was out on the table.  Please tell me half of that writing actually belongs to Castiel, or I’ll be very concerned about your mental well being.”

“None of your goddamned business,” Dean growled, “Now get out of here before I kick your ass on principle.”

Crowley raised his linked hands in surrender before making for the kitchen, presumably to seek out his promised sandwich.  He paused, eyes flickering down to the worn leather book in Dean’s grip. 

“I’m not one to advocate for that upstart of a former angel,” Crowley added at the doorway, “But it looks like you’ve been giving him the shaft, and I’m not sure he actually deserves it this time.”  Dean ignored him, seething until he heard the creak of the kitchen door and knew Crowley wasn’t breathing down his neck.   With shaking hands Dean tossed the journal back onto the reading table.  He stalked around it aimlessly for a few minutes, a jungle cat considering its prey, whether the hunt was worth the risk.  At long last Dean dropped into a bronze gilded chair and flipped open the book, finding the latest pages with unnerving ease.  Cas had written.  Probably to tell him to fuck off, a bitter part of Dean mused.  Maybe just to talk, a hopeful part retorted.  Shut up, replied the rest of him, and Dean began to read:

_Hello Dean,_

_I don’t know where to begin._

_…_

_Dean, whatever believe to be true is… it’s just nonsense. I’m here. I’ll always be here. I don’t know what I said… Ambriel tells me it was hateful, that I drove you away. But you have to know that I was under the influence of something evil. The demon blood it…  it warped me into something I can’t even remember. I saw you and I thought you were a hallucination, something to drive me over the edge. I thought Abaddon would kill you. It sounds like nonsense but it was real.  It was Abaddon. Not me._

_…_

_I believe thanks are in order, but thank you seems inadequate. I find it strange that humans have such a small catch phrase for such big acts. You say thank you when someone opens the door for you at a restaurant. You saved my life, and a thank you is supposed to show you my appreciation?_

_Nevertheless, thank you._

_…_

_I think about home often. Sometimes I think of heaven, with its never-ending songs and an intoxicating sense of unity. I think about the Men of Letters Bunker. I try to imagine what it would be in its ideal state. We could give each wall a fresh coat of paint like you wanted to, Sam could find an efficient way to organize the library, and maybe we could have your friend Charlie over for dinner sometimes. Just idle thoughts._

_…_

_I’ve thought about shutting this journal, tucking it away in my car, and deciding to never write to you again. Why should I write to someone who would expect so little of me? Why should I write to someone who took offense to the words I said in my_ injured state _? You must not know me at all._

_…_

_I didn’t mean that._

_…_

_I will never forgive Ambriel for letting me think that you were just a hallucination, even though my rational side knows that she only did it for the benefit of our mission. I wish I could explain myself to you. Please write back. At least tell me you’re alright._

_Castiel_

Dean closed the journal.  He opened it and read Castiel’s letter again.  He closed it again.  He got up drank a glass of water, paced back and forth around the table for a few minutes, then returned to his seat and stared at the dark leather bound book.

Pancakes.  Yep.  That was the thought that bubbled to the surface.  Castiel eating pancakes that Dean had made for him.  Castiel, eyes wide, cheeks stuffed full like some adorable blue-eyed breakfast loving squirrel.  That morning had probably ticked off a list of all of Dean’s caretaker fantasies as Castiel stumbled his way into humanity via three plates of butter soaked flapjacks.

How quickly it shattered into betrayal and pain and demon blood. (Why was it always demon blood?)  And then there’s always the explanation.  It was Leviathan.  It was Naomi.  It was Abaddon.   Hallucinations, insanity, mind control.  Couldn’t they get five fucking seconds to talk like normal human beings?  Dean felt like he was on a goddamn roller coaster.  Up, Down, Sam’s sick, Sam’s better, Cas is good, Cas hates me.  It was too much. 

Dean wanted to write back.  Say yeah everything’s fine.  It’s cool.  But it was just too fucking much.  He was too raw, and too tired.  Even the thought of reconciliation was already getting bruised by ugly guilt.  Yup, there was the real trouble.  A few harsh words and Dean had walked right out on his best friend.  Chalk up another abandonment on the Dean/Cas tally. 

Dean sank further and further into the couch, his emotions warring on the soft and smudged journal pages as he absently scanned Castiel’s letter again and again.  _I’m here.  I’ll always be here._

 _Yeah, right_ , Dean couldn’t help but think as his eyes fluttered shut and he fell into a restless doze, brow tight.  _Then where are you now?_   Guilt, stubbornness and self-pity fought it out as Dean slipped into a true sleep, stress and exhaustion taking its toll.

* * *

 

“Dean, Dean I’m  _here_.” Dean comes to awareness with the press of a warm and comfortable weight against his chest and newly calloused fingers stroking through his hair.  Blue eyes river deep swim into focus and Castiel smiles at him soft and lazy.

“Cas?  You’re-how-“  Castiel’s hands take root in his hair, grasping firmly as he pulls Dean into a kiss.  Dean’s eyes blow wide and then fall shut as the world narrows to the press of Castiel’s lips; the puff of his warm breath and the tiny sounds of need that escape his throat.  His hands flounder before landing on the soft flannel covering Castiel’s back.  Blue flannel, Dean realizes as Castiel pulls away to kiss his eyelids.  His flannel.  Brow against brow, Castiel stares down at Dean, his face full and healthy, no trace of the pallor from the last time Dean saw him.

“I missed you.”  It’s the softest of confessions and Dean only nods, breathless, before pulling Castiel back down, sealing their mouths together.  How had he walked away from this?  Months of stress and anxiety melt under the heat of Castiel’s body against his.  Lips part, and Castiel is tasting Dean like a fine wine, jaws stretching wide and hands gripping too tight. 

“Wait-“ Dean attempts, trying and failing to make sense of what was happening beyond the sheer cliff of want that he was tumbling over.

“Please Dean,” Castiel begs, mouthing along the bolt of Dean’s jaw until he can whisper in his ear, “Help me feel  _human.”_

Dean’s response is a choked off groan as Castiel presses their hips flush and Dean feels just how much the former angel wants him.  Suddenly the heat in his belly flares, their kisses turning desperate.  When Dean takes Castiel’s hips to roll him over onto the mattress (When did he end up in his bed, anyway?) he knows it’s hard enough to mark, even through his jeans.  Castiel doesn’t seem to mind, in fact he  _growls_  as Dean presses him into the memory foam, yanking on Dean’s hair and biting his bottom lip hard enough to break the skin.  Dean jerks away, hissing in pain.

“Ow,  _Jesus_ ,” Dean exclaims, his fingers coming away scarlet when he brushes them across his sore mouth, “What the fuck, Cas?”  Castiel laughs, fingers digging painfully at his scalp and he tries to pull Dean back down.

“No,  _stop_ ,” Dean protests, “That hurts.”

“I know.” 

Dean’s blood turns to ice in his veins.

Castiel’s eyes flicker beetle black, sweeping over Dean’s face as a cold smirk toys at the former angel’s mouth.

“Cas, what-“

“You shouldn’t have pushed him away, Dean-o.”  Castiel’s lips are moving, but Abbadon’s sultry purr fills the air and Dean is paralyzed. 

“No!” he denies, clasping Castiel’s face in his palms, but the touch of his skin begins to burn like acid.

 “Yes!” Abbadon crows as Dean recoils with a harsh cry, “I’ve got my hooks in him now, and I’ll never let him go.”  Castiel’s spine arches off the bed, and suddenly his eyes are blue again, pupils contracted in fear as he sobs, begging for Dean, for the pain to stop.  Dean tries and tries to reach him but his hands pass through Castiel’s chest like a hologram as the former angel goes rigid and begins to convulse.  His eyes are vacant and accusing.

  _Why did you leave me?_

“Cas!” Dean nearly tumbled off the couch as he woke up with a shout.  A hand against his mouth revealed no blood; a look around the darkening room revealed no former angel.  Heart pounding, Dean had the journal open and off the coffee table before the adrenaline left his system.   

**_Cas? Cas if you’re there for christ’s sake pick up._ **

_I’m here._

_Is something wrong, Dean?_

**_Jesus… Are you alright? Are you- any demon blood problems?_ **

_No… My body managed to overcome the effects. I haven’t felt anything since, maybe a few headaches._

**_I… uh ok. Good. Ok._ **

_Why do you ask?_

_Of course, it’s good to hear from you, don’t misunderstand._

**_It’s nothing, I guess. Just a bad feeling._ **

Dean paused.  This could be it.  He could end it here with some perfunctory small talk and walk away with relief that Cas was okay and the status quo intact.  But it wouldn’t be enough.  Not anymore.  The image of a writhing, begging Cas still painfully fresh in his mind, Dean continued.

**_No actually it wasn’t nothing. Cas I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you there._ **

_Dean- you don’t have to- It’s unnecessary._

**_No it’s not. You thought you were dying and I left you. I shouldn’t have been pissed I should have ignored you and stayed until you were ok._ **

_It’s forgiven, if that’s what you need. But I’m not angry._

_I’m… I can’t stay angry with you._

**_You should be. I’m angry enough for the both of us. Christ. I haven’t slept through the night since you left and I had you in my_ ** **hands _and I let Ambriel talk me out of there._**

_Ambriel is difficult. She’s been known to keep secrets. Including that you weren’t just a hallucination in the first place._

_But she has her reasons._

**_I’m not mad at Ambriel. I don’t care about that I’m trying to make a point about my own dumb self here. I’m sorry._ **

_You saved me Dean. It what universe does that require an apology? Don’t apologize for being afraid. Or overwhelmed. We are only… human._

_Nothing about this is simple. You reacted the way anyone would. You don’t need to apologize to me._

**_I’m not anyone. You’re not anyone to me. You shouldn’t have been in danger in the first place. I shouldn’t have pushed you away._ **

Come on, Winchester.  All or nothing.  Soft hair, a warm mouth, hard angles and sharp eyes.  Dean needed him.

_That wasn’t why—_

**_I shouldn’t have told you no._ **

Dean’s own writing burned a tattoo on his eyes as he waited for Cas’s reply. No turning back now. He chewed on the end of his pen, heart jumping as Cas’s neat print slowly appeared.

_You don’t have to patronize me now, Dean. It happened a long time ago._

**_No. I mean—_ **

**_It doesn’t feel that way to me. I don’t—maybe you feel differently now._ **

_What I feel doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t put you in any position—where you might feel_ _obligated._

Christ, Castiel still thought this was some kind of guilt laden pity party.  Dean was gonna have to spell it out. 

**_I wanted it. I wanted it so bad. I wanted you right there on the floor and why I didn’t—why I couldn’t—I was scared, man._ **

Dean was still pretty scared _now._ But if there was any chance at all that Cas hadn’t written him off he was willing to go for it.  Goddammit he’d take the catcalls and the funny looks in bars and the loud exclamations proclaiming “Your daddy would pitch a fit” if he could have Cas. He’d take all the supernatural shit that would probably come after them and all the demons that would use them against each other and the homophobic ghosts they were bound to start running into now that Dean had thought of it if it meant he could have Cas.

**_I’ve lived thirty-five years of being one way and five of those with you and me being one way and I don’t know what to do. I still don’t.  But I’m tired of being scared._ **

_I apologize for taking so long to respond… the English language can feel so limited sometimes. But Dean… I don’t know what to do either. For millennia I watched humankind, fought for them, but I only truly fell when I saw your soul in hell. I didn’t know it then… Maybe not until I became human did I accept it. But if you want this, you have me. Whatever is left of me._

Dean was shaking, too surprised to laugh but too happy to cry as Castiel’s words lined the page.  There was a knot somewhere inside him loosening, leaving him wide open and elated and nervous.  Excited to hold Cas, to show him how much he meant, and anxious that Cas would realize what a broken, messed up asshole he’d just offered himself to.  Dean didn’t tamp down on either set of feelings, letting them fight it out and coming up with one thought.

 **_Come home. Please. Come home and let me try again_ ** _._

_I will. Soon._

_But there is something else you need to know._

Dean rolled his eyes, imagining Cas in some rotten hotel room reporting like a soldier after all that chick stuff they just got through spillin’.  It was making Dean freakin’ _glow_. 

**_Of course there is. Shoot._ **

_I think I can save Sam. Ambriel has found a way._

**_Fuck yes! Lay it on me!_ **

_I—we’re still testing, and there are a few more stops to make. I’m asking you to trust me. As soon as I have the cure, I’ll be there._

**_Ok. Ok. I can do that. Thank you. Fuck, man, I can’t wait._ **

_I wish I could be there now. I’ve missed you. More than I could write._

**_It’s all gonna be ok, Cas. We’ll work it out together. Just get here when you’re ready._ **

_I will. I promise. I hope you’ll be able to sleep now._

**_Like a baby. ‘Night Cas._ **

_Goodnight Dean._

Dean closed the book, heading for his own room with a smile on his face.  He really could have it all.  Cas could come home with nothing but the shirt on his back and the clap and Dean would be freakin’ thrilled, but of course Cas would have the answer he and Kevin had been killing themselves to find. 

After a quick look in on Sam, Dean fell asleep in his own bed, dreaming of soft brown hair and eyes that wrinkled when they smiled.  


	17. Chapter 17

Castiel read and reread the conversation, balancing the journal in one hand while waiting in the check-out line of a truck stop convenience store. He read to find a loophole. To find where he misunderstood or misread. But all he saw was Dean’s messy handwriting that straddled the line between cursive and print. Sometimes he wrote his R’s in uppercase until he appeared to catch himself doing it. His writing was often tainted with the rhythms of his own speech, more conversation than prose. But those were the things Cas loved about Dean’s letters. Only two words haunted him now.

_Come Home._

Not the usual  _Get back here!_ or  _What the fuck, Cas?_ There was no anger in the statement, only hope. Dean didn’t claim to own Castiel. He didn’t demand anything. It was just a soft plea.

A small hand tugged at his sleeve, jolting him back to the present. Liz stood at his side, her clear hazel eyes looking up at him with a curious expression.

“What are you thinking about, Castiel?”

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Though Liz was reaching her adolescence, she still retained a certain innocence. “Just about a friend,” he answered.

The young girl nodded, her face serious. They had driven all night from Illinois, Ambriel opting to take the back seat to watch over her former vessel. Liz woke up halfway through the night, rubbing her eyes and stretching like she hadn’t been possessed by an angel for almost three months. After feeding her (Castiel thought burgers seemed appropriate) and checking her over for any permanent damage, Hadarniel deemed her perfect. Ambriel had beamed with relief, laughing and joking with Liz as if they had known each other for years. Castiel knew that angels didn’t often form emotional bonds with their vessels, but when they did, they could be strong. Liz and Ambriel had been a perfect match, he knew it.

The young girl nodded, her face serious. “I hope it’s a good friend. People can suck sometimes.” She shuddered dramatically.

Cas laughed. “He’s a good friend. One of the few I have left.”

“That’s not true,” she said quickly, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion, “You have Ambriel. She won’t leave you. I know her.”

Castiel smiled, glancing outside as Ambriel stared at the self-service gas pump. He had put her in charge of filling up the tank to take them all the way to Liz’s home. She would undoubtedly use grace to siphon the gas into the vehicle, as soon as she deemed the parking lot deserted enough.

“You, with the vacant expression, you wanna pay or what?”

Cas’s gaze snapped back to the cashier. He mumbled his apology as Liz giggled next to him. He placed a bag of potato chips and a hand-held pie on the counter, ignoring the guilt building in his gut the red-nailed cashier ran her red laser scanner over the bar codes. He knew he should take better care of his body, especially since it was  _his_  now. Glancing at the sad basket of apples in the corner of the store, he decided to risk it with whatever fruit that may have found its way into the pie.

After paying for their purchases (Liz snuck a bag of peanut m&ms into the mix somehow) Castiel and Liz meandered back outside to where Ambriel sat upon the hood of the Cavalier. He assumed the gas tank was now full.

Ambriel smiled and addressed Liz. “Ready to go home?”

“You don’t even know,” the young girl joked. She piled into the backseat with Hadarniel, already crunching on her M&Ms in bliss, leaving Castiel and Ambriel to stare at each other in strained silence.

Castiel wondered if the personality of the angel made any effect on the appearance of their self-made vessel. As a species, angels were genderless; but even when they made their own vessels, angels could choose genders. He wondered if they were more human than they had known.

Ambriel looked away from him, staring at the darkening horizon. “Castiel, I was wondering,” she began tentatively, “Why did you leave Dean behind?”

Castiel felt the familiar clench at the mention of Dean’s name, but couldn’t help but notice that it was the first time Ambriel had spoken about him without a trace of spite or anger in her voice.

“I thought it was obvious,” he responded, “I wanted to fix what I broke. Fix our family.”

“I’m well acquainted with the particulars of our mission,” she said, “I suppose I meant  _how_ did you leave Dean behind.”

Cas exhaled, lost for words. Even in her mature body, Ambriel looked younger than she had in Liz’s pre-teen vessel. He walked towards to the car, taking a seat beside her. He thought about telling her that Dean and him were just friends, and that Dean was a hunter and knew all about duty and honor and… ugh. He was sick of all of it.

“Before I left, Dean and I shared… an awkward situation.” He shuffled his feet on the ground, trying to find the words. The memory of that night was fuzzy at best; he had been more intoxicated that he realized. But he remembered the soft feel of Dean’s t-shirt in his hands. A woodsy smell laced with whiskey and something indescribable…

“Meaning you expressed romantic interest in him and he rejected you?” Ambriel said, jarring him out of his own thoughts.

Blood rushed to his face in involuntary embarrassment, but he nodded. “Yes. After that, things were tense. We snapped at each other a few times and said some things… We  _both_  said hurtful things. Sam had been getting better, but then he took a turn for the worse. Dean has always carried so much on his shoulders; I knew he felt responsible for me.” He looked down, picking at a loose thread on his jacket. “I only wanted to help.”

Ambriel rubbed her forearms as a chill settled in the late summer evening. “Did it help?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Some time ago I told Dean that he can’t save everyone no matter how hard he tries. I probably should have taken my own advice.”

“Don’t say that,” Ambriel responded quickly, “We did save our family. And now we know how to help them survive on earth without taking human lives. This is a victory.”

“Then why do you sound like you need the convincing?” Castiel asked, turning to look at her.

Ambriel chuckled, a sad sound. “I’m going to miss the girl. I’m not naïve, I’ve had vessels before, but she’s… different. And she wants to go home. She  _has_ to go home. How do you deal with it, Castiel?” she asked, turning to meet his eyes.

Hers were red-rimmed and glassy. Overwhelmingly human.

“Deal with what?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“The silence,” she exhaled, dropping her head in her hands. “In heaven we always had our family to talk to, and songs to hear. And even on earth we had our vessels but now… It’s so quiet.”

Castiel nodded. “I’ll tell you when I have the answer.” He was only beginning to adjust to the deafening silence in his own mind. Jimmy Novak’s presence, though gone in these last few years, had been a comfort in hard times.

Ambriel cleared her throat, standing up. “We should go. Liz’s parents must be worried.”

“Of course,” Castiel muttered, following her lead.

                                                            

* * *

 

Liz lived in Kansas, conveniently enough. After landing in a swampy back-forest of Louisiana, Ambriel’s disembodied grace had wandered desperately to find a vessel until coming upon Liz, happy and healthy at her after-school soccer practice. The bond was immediate and intense; Liz had walked off the field, never looking back. After checking in with her parents, Ambriel assumed full control.

“Well it sounds freakin’  _creepy_  when you say it like that, Am,” Liz interrupted. Ambriel smirked and shook her head. “Why don’t you finish the story then?” she retaliated.

“You took all the good parts, but I suppose I can jump in from here,” the young girl said. Castiel could see her chin perk up in the rear view mirror as she began to speak in earnest. He smiled to himself. He was going to miss having Liz around.

“Long story short, I freaked out my soccer coach because I was acting like a member of the walking dead,” she said, “But really I was just  _so_ curious about what she was saying. My family’s not religious, but everyone knows about angels. But no one had actually  _talked_ to one. I thought I was crazy,” she paused, her voice edged with melancholy.

“Believing in the divine does not indicate insanity, Elizabeth,” Hadarniel murmured. Castiel almost jumped at the sound of the deep, raspy voice; the older angel didn't talk much, but his words carried weight

“Thanks pal, but I know I’m a weirdo, accepted it a long time ago,” she continued, “Anyway, we get back home, my parents noticed something was off, so I just told them the truth.”

“How did they take it?” Castiel asked. Accustomed to the Winchester school of secret-keeping, he was intrigued by Liz’s cavalier approach to her whole adventure as a vessel.

“My mother wanted to take me to the ER and my Dad kept shining a flashlight in my eyes.” Seeing their confused looks, she quickly added, “My Dad’s really big into alien abductions and… yeah. So he was looking for a bug, my mother was sobbing, and Am here decided that she would just have to heal my little brother’s broken leg to prove it to them.”

“I never knew you had a soft side, Ambriel,”Castiel teased, glancing at his friend in the passenger seat.

“It seemed to be the best option to prove my authenticity, other than showing my true visage and burning their eyes out,” the angel growled low.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Liz said, “And then we just set out. Open road, no rules. It was great. Until the police picked us up the first time. We had to teleport all the way back to… Where were we? Louisiana?”

“Correct,” Ambriel nodded, “That’s where you found us, Castiel.”

Castiel nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. The signs for Liz’s town were beginning to appear as wheats fields gave way to shopping centers and trailer parks. Like many Midwestern towns, a thin layer of dust coated everything, sticking to his windshield.

“Feels strange to be back here. Thought it was gonna just be you and me on the road forever, Am,” Liz said.

Castiel could see Ambriel purse her lips, blinking rapidly. “You know you don’t mean that. You’re young. Cherish your life. I’m ecstatic that I was able to give it back to you.”

Liz harrumphed her answer but otherwise stayed silent.  She pepped up when Castiel suggested that she point out her favorite landmarks, describing to them the old fashioned movie theater and the dog park where she would take the family golden retriever on warm summer days. Time flew by, and soon it was time for her to give Castiel directions to her house.

The downtown area thinned out into a quaint residential sector that Liz announced was her neighborhood. The houses were small but well kept, with cottage gardens and lawns burnt brown in the late summer sun.

“Next one on the right, Cas!” Liz half-shouted, bouncing up and down in her seat. Cas slammed on his brakes just in time to swing into a gravel driveway. The small ranch-style home stood out amongst the beige and tan houses, sporting a blue paint-job and a kitchy “Home is where the Heart is” sign draped with plastic ivy hanging over the screen door.

Castiel had already decided to stay in the car with Hadarniel, so with a quick peck on his cheek from the backseat Liz bounded from the car, a slow moving Ambriel following her to the front door. Castiel watched as the door swung open before Liz could even reach it, and a tall man with salt and pepper hair bounded out, the sun shining off his white-toothed smile.

“Dad!” Liz yelled, running into the man’s open arms and allowing him to lift her off the ground into a crushing embrace. His eyes squeezed shut, lips moving in some kind of prayer not heard by Castiel.

It was a scene out of one of those insipid made-for-TV movies Kevin sometimes watched to clear his head of tablet jargon, only real. Castiel remembered another time, another dark-haired man with a fair-haired daughter that were never reunited. He felt of twinge of affection, unsure whether it was his own or something left over from Jimmy Novak’s receded consciousness. Castiel shivered, trying to shake the thought from his mind.

Liz’s mother emerged slower, as if in disbelief. Soon she too had Liz wrapped in a crushing embrace, tears shining on her freckled face. Castiel’s heart clenched with need, a purely human need to hold those you love close to you. Looking at the unconditional love this family had for each other, his felt his previous fears begin to dissipate. He would be home with his own family soon.

Ambriel stood awkwardly to the side, out of place. After a few more moments of bliss, the reunited family turned to her as Liz animatedly explained the situation. Liz’s parents could only beam at the angel, and if Castiel’s lip-reading was correct, he swore he saw Liz’s father say “Thank you.”

After one final hug goodbye, Ambriel made her way back toward the car. Without looking back, Liz and her family disappeared into the house, the screen door slamming loudly in the quiet night.

Ambriel piled back into the front seat, her face wet with tears.

“Ambriel—“

“Just drive Castiel.” Her voice was harsh and heavy. “She was only a child.”

Castiel nodded, resting his hand on the shift before impulsively leaning forward and opening the glove box to hand Ambriel the few napkins printed with truck stop logos. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose loudly, making even Hadarniel chuckle softly.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean woke up before his alarm, excited, nervous energy tickling under his skin.  Cas was coming home. 

He winced as the saw the bright numbers on his phone, letting him know how obscenely early it was.  _4:45_.  Dean tried to roll over, scrunching his eyes shut and willing himself back to sleep, but it was no use.  His fingers tapped against his pillow and his feet twitched in the socks he had accidentally fallen asleep in last night.  Cas was coming home.     

After a long, hot shower, Dean decided his energy would be best channeled into giving the bunker a good scrub down.  There could be a bunch of new mouths to feed soon (Did Ambriel and Had even have to eat?), so the kitchen would need organizing and restocking.  Maybe he would make a grocery run later.  Dean wanted to make breakfast for dinner when Cas got home.  

Maybe waffles this time. 

Or breakfast burritos. 

Had Cas ever tried tacos? 

If not, that would be high on the list of things to cook.  They had time. 

First, Dean needed to make sure the kitchen table wasn’t still sticky from when Kevin spilled that Red Bull.   By the time Dean had finished cleaning the grilles of the industrial stove, the sun was about ready to rise and Dean was really beginning to understand why chicks cleaned things when they were stressed. 

As the morning passed Dean found himself drifting further and further into the vicinity of the front door.  It started with little glances as he carried piles of books back to the library from all the various alcoves Sam had been leaving them in.  Then it was a straining ear as he ran a quick mop over the strategy room’s floor, listening for the sound of a familiar four cylinder engine.  Eventually Dean caved, grabbing a beer before clamoring up the steps that led to the heavy steel entranceway.  He sank onto the narrow cement lip of the door frame, back pressed against the door.  This was good.  Nice.  He wasn’t waiting for a knock.  Dean just needed a little space to think was all.

What would it be like when Castiel came back?  What would he say when he got here?  Knowing Castiel he would be all business.   Maybe Dean would kiss him right here on the stairwell.   Wipe that “Agent of Heaven” look right off his face, right in front of his angel buddies.  How many angels was Cas bringing with him, anyway?  Not that it was going to interfere with the kissing plan, but maybe Dean should have opened up some more bedrooms.  Did the other angels need to sleep?  Did they have enough pillows?    

Dean felt a sudden flare of anxiety.  Where was _Castiel_ gonna sleep?  With Dean?  In his own room?  Crap, he never cleaned Castiel’s room.  _Should_ he clean Cas’ room? Should Dean move Cas’ stuff into _his_ room?  Had Dean changed his sheets lately?  Would Castiel want to sleep together, or was that moving too fast?  Once he actually saw Dean again would Cas still want to touch him?  What if the bunker wasn’t clean enough and Castiel thought Dean wasn’t a good provider?  What if they finally got to watch Star Wars together Castiel liked the prequels _better??_  

Jesus.  Dean knew he was spiraling.  He rested his forehead against the cool metal of the stairwell and willed himself back to calm.  He just needed to see Cas, that was all.  Once Castiel was back everything would be fine.  They could talk things out.  They could talk anything out.  He took a restless sip of his beer as his knee bounced and his fingers itched for the feel of Castiel’s warm skin. 

"What are you doing?"  Dean jumped as Sam called to him from the bottom of the staircase.  Sam was still in his pajama pants, looking exhausted and slightly irritated by the splash of beer Dean accidently sent over the railing when he started. 

"Jesus Sammy," Dean groaned, "Announce yourself or something."

"Dude, I’ve been looking for you for twenty minutes," Sam griped, shaking his head like an Irish Setter, "You’re perched on that ledge like a hawk.  What are you doing?"

"I’m just…y’know," Dean mumbled lamely, "Taking a moment.  Having a beer."

"You’re waiting for Cas."  Sam’s look went from one of annoyance to a bizarre cross between smug and pitiful.

"Don’t be such a girl," Dean scoffed, taking a manly swig from his bottle, “‘Course I’m not ‘waiting for Cas’.  This isn’t fuckin’  _Cold Mountain_.”

"You know he’s not actually coming  _today_ , right?”  Dean scowled as he stomped down the metal staircase a little heavier than necessary.  Of course he knew that. 

"I wasn’t waiting for Cas," Dean repeated emphatically.  His scowl deepened as Sam swayed on his feet.  Up close his brother looked even paler, with the red around his eyes and nose that scared Dean more than he liked to admit. 

"What are you even doing out of bed?" Dean demanded, sliding a hand over Sam’s clammy forehead, "Your fever’s rising again."

"I hadn’t seen Crowley all day," Sam pouted, "I thought he might be up to something."

"He’s back in the dungeon," Dean muttered absently as he took Sam’s pulse, "Kevin tried to kill him with one of the spare angel blades last night so I locked him up for his own protection.  Jesus, how are you even standing?"

Sam just shrugged, eyes fluttering.  Dean slung an arm around his brother’s shoulders, leading him back toward the long hallway of bedrooms. 

"C’mon," Dean coaxed, "Before you pass out again and I have to carry your giant ass."

By the time they made it back to Sam’s room Dean basically _was_ carrying him.  Dean felt some of his bubbling excitement ebb as Sam laid down without an objection, sipping on the water Dean offered him before rolling over and falling into an uneasy sleep.  Dean spent the next hour or so switching icepacks back and forth on Sam’s forehead, doing his best to keep his brother’s temperature below dangerous levels.  Sam always breathed a soft sigh of relief when Dean placed a fresh cold pack against his skin, though the tension never left his frame and his eyes never stopped jumping under their lids.  He rambled as he shivered, calling for Dean and Bobby, and once even for John.  Dean had to step out when Sam started asking for Jess.

Dean was on his way to the kitchen to refill Sam’s glass when he spotted the journal still sitting on the coffee table.  Maybe he could just touch base with Cas real quick.  Just an update, maybe more of an ETA from the angel brigade.  Yeah.  It would just take a second. 

 

_Hey Cas,_

_I know it hasn’t been long, but I just wanted to check in.   I’m real psyched about you comin’ back.  Sam actually caught me waiting by the door this morning, if you can believe that.  I didn’t even know what I was doing.  It’s like I’m turning into some kind of sappy Nicholas sparks chick or somethin’.  Don’t tell Sam that I know who that is._

_Look, I’m not gonna lie to you.  Sam’s getting bad again.  I’ve tried all the meds we got but nothings bringing his fever down.  I got him into bed earlier and he didn’t even try to put up an argument.  Usually it takes a half hour of griping before I can get him to lie down for a few minutes even.  I’m keeping him cool best as I can, but…I think he thinks he’s back at Stanford.  He keeps talking to Jess, like he’s twenty two again and she’s right there.  Sometimes he talks about my dad.  It’s…rough.  I’m okay, I’ve definitely handled worse, I’m just worried about him, y’know?  I trust you when you say you have a plan though.  No questions there.  Sam trusts you too.  Your name even popped up once or twice in between all the fever mumbles._

_I know you’re not laying around out there Cas.  Making sure the angels are safe and stuff is important and I get it.  Just, the sooner you can get here the better, okay?_

_See you soon, hopefully,_

_Dean_


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The graces of ten angels still sat in a washed out Vaseline jar in the trunk, its hum grew more intense as time flew by.

Castiel hadn’t meant to open the journal. Hadarniel was being difficult, trying to find the perfect place to perform rituals en masse.  Castiel squelched his comments about the older angel being a superstitious ancient in favor of peace.

The graces of ten angels still sat in a washed out Vaseline jar in the trunk, its hum grew more intense as time flew by.

They drove along a dusty country road, occasionally stopping in order for Hadarniel to get out and walk into the forest, test the air, and try out several strange bird calls. It was all very mystical, and Castiel found himself growing impatient. He picked at the skin of his thumb until in bled, then decided to take up nail biting instead. He’d always had little appreciation for this side of his faith, even as an angel.

Nevertheless, Hadarniel seemed to know what he was looking for. He always returned to the car disappointed, and Castiel would rev the engine again to continue on, stopping only at country stores to re-fuel and re-caffeinate.

Three days after dropping Liz off at her suburban home, Ambriel and Hadarniel were on a particularly lengthy jaunt in the woods and Castiel waited in his car, the radio turned down to a low hum on the classic rock station (for no particular reason of course). He sipped on weak coffee with too much non-dairy creamer, and contemplated a nap before thoughtlessly reaching forward into the glove compartment to retrieve the journal.

Out of all the human emotions Cas had experienced in the past few months, the strangest by far was nerves. The fluttering, achy sensation that started low in your belly, traveling up to form a lump in your throat.

Sam was sick. Dean’s prose was calm and casual, but the hand that wrote it had been shaking. He could almost hear the hollow resolve in Dean’s voice.  _I trust you when you say you have a plan though.  No questions there._  He felt the familiar churning of guilt in his gut along with anxiety. Such a useless emotion, he thought to himself, but the hardest to be rid of.

Dean trusted him to fix his brother. But what had Castiel done to earn that trust? Walked away? Abandoned one family for another? A darker fear tugged at him. What if he failed?

_What if you can’t save Sam?_

This small, but powerful voice of doubt had tugged at him ever since Dean had written him in the middle of the night, telling him that he wished he had kissed Castiel back. Castiel wished he could have seen Dean as he was writing those words, interpreted the look on his face. Or heard the words spoken. He cursed himself for not  _at least_  keeping his cell phone, why did he have to pick the one method of communication that had gone out of style because of its tediousness and ambiguity?

He closed his eyes, leaning his head up against the headrest. Focusing on the pulse at his temples, he tried to clear his head, but to no avail. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he would fail, that Dean would turn him away if he failed to fix his brother. It was juvenile, but the feeling was familiar and settled into the crevices of his mind.

His eyes flew open upon hearing three small knocks at the passenger side window. Hadarniel and Ambriel stood beside the car, motioning for him to roll the window down, their flailing arms comically un-angelic.

Ambriel’s face was pink with excitement, if not genuine exertion. He voice came out in a huff. “We found a place. It’s time.”

                                                           

* * *

 

The angels led  Castiel, jar in hand, to an open clearing. The air felt thick.

“Feel’s strange, doesn’t it?” Ambriel asked.

Castiel nodded. “Almost… familiar in some way.”

“It’s a special place,” Hadarniel called from ahead of them, “Almost identical to where we performed the last ritual. God left these places behind for us. Have you forgotten all our teachings, Castiel?”

Castiel shrugged, wondering if God bought real estate in forest clearings at the start of the universe.

Ambriel hid her smile behind her hand as Hadarniel explained the ritual to the jar of swirling, opaque grace, ever the serious soldier. Castiel wanted to ask the older angel if non-corporeal essence had a sense of hearing, but he knew it would only land him a stern look.

Once they were ready to begin, Castiel retreated off to the side amongst the trees with a stack of secondhand clothes for the angels once they materialized. In that moment he was grateful for his comfortable jeans and blue flannel shirt (the one with the red stripes) on top of a vessel he was more than accustomed to. He was at home in his skin, however guilty that made him feel. The angels were in for the shock of their existences.

Without the barrier of human vessels to extract the grace from, the rituals went much smoother than Ambriel’s own rocky start to body autonomy. They stepped into their bodies naturally, without any fuss that came from exiting a human host and at first, Castiel was dazzled and in awe of the mighty power and spectacle of the transformation. However, after the fifth angel, anything can get old.

In all, ten angels manifested from the combined grace trapped in the jar. They milled around the field, staring at their new bodies with puzzled, but calm expressions. He passed out jeans and t-shirts quickly purchased from the thrift store on the way, haphazardly sized using cheap plastic belts.

The angels came in all shapes and sizes. Some had wide, bright features and angular bodies where others were small and soft. He carefully averted his eyes as to respect their newfound humanity, even though their quizzical stares at their fingers and toes, along with their torsos, legs, and nether regions, were far from bashful. They pulled on the clothes mostly in silence, whispering softly in Enochian to each other.

It was eerie.

Ambriel sidled up next to him. “I believe the humans would call this an awkward moment,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

“No kidding,” Castiel said as ten pairs of dark eyes rose to stare at them as they finished getting dressed. Most looked serene and curious to see. A few angry faces, but he had expected screaming and writhing in pain along with perhaps his own smiting by their hands.

One of them spoke up, a small woman with honey-colored skin and deep black eyes. “I—“ interrupted by a cough, she sputtered until she could continue. “Why is it so quiet here?”

Oh.

The other angels nodded, as if experiencing the same symptoms. Cold sweat beaded on the back of Castiel’s neck. A fresh wave guilt washed over him. Was this truly the right thing for the angels? He had adjusted to the almost unbearable silence, but would they? Had he made a rash decision to save Sam without even thinking about the welfare of his brothers and sisters?

He opened his mouth to apologize, or to explain, he didn’t know which.

Luckily, Hadarniel did it for him.

“You have your own bodies now; a physical representation of your individual grace. But you are still angels. You are still here to carry out God’s mission,” Hadarniel said, “There are no more archangels. We can’t go home. The only thing we have is our will to do what is right.”

The angels murmured to each other, most with assenting looks on their faces. The wind began to pick up, bringing a new chill into the forest clearing. The ancient angel continued.

“We are here to protect humanity but also to learn from them. We need them as much as they need us, and more than that, we  _owe_  them that. They’ve lived too long in a Godless Universe.”

Silence. Hadarniel’s rough voice still rang out in the air, righteous and true, but the angels just continued to stare. Some of them rubbed vigorously at their temples, as if trying to seek out a combined consciousness that was forever lost.

A tall, milk-white male angel cleared his throat towards the back. His overlong limbs poked out from the bottom of his jeans. “I believe in your convictions, brother, but if I’m not mistaken, you’re standing next to the angel who is responsible for our fall. Why should we listen to you?”

Hadarniel opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by Ambriel. “Oh Remiel, still so  _bright_.” Her voice was laced with sarcasm. “Have you forgotten that you were, until very recently, trapped inside a jar meant for petroleum jelly? And that we freed you? And that  _Castiel_ , after accepting Heaven’s rejection for millennia, risked his life to save you? His human life?”

“That’s enough Ambriel.” Castiel felt his face grow hot, a combination of rage and embarrassment flooding his cheeks and neck with color. He turned to the angels, trying to keep his face passive.

“We can’t trust you, Castiel,” the tall angel said, his face cold. A few others nodded in agreement.

Castiel sighed, rubbing his face vigorously with his rough palms. His stubble scratched at his hands; it had been a while since he had gotten his hands on a sharp razor. His voice bubbled up rough and distant in his throat, but he spoke loudly nonetheless.

“You shouldn’t trust me,” he began, “You have no reason to. My failures have been catastrophic for our race, and I will spend whatever time I have trying to fix them.” He looked up, twelve pairs of eyes boring into him, “But, I’m not here to ask for your loyalty. Or your forgiveness. There is no war to fight and we’re too scattered even if there was. I am only a human, and I’m praying for your help. I just need you to cure one man.” His voice quieted, settling into a plea.

“The boy with the demon blood,” Hadarniel clarified.

“His name is Sam Winchester,” Cas interrupted, trying to steady his shaking voice, “And he is only a victim of his circumstances. After that, the choice is yours. I won’t take your free will ever again.”

The silence was steady, their faces passive. Castiel waited for an answer, knowing it would decide his future.


	20. Chapter 20

Dean startled awake from his place at the end of Sam’s bed.  His neck creaked, and he stood and stretched, trying to ease the kinks.   He was getting too old to be falling asleep on the edges of a mattress.  Sam was watching him from his nest of blankets.

“You’re getting old,” he commented, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Not too old to nanny after your frail self,” Dean said, sinking into the kitchen chair they’d set up at Sam’s bedside, “You with me today?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered, breathing slow and deliberate, each pull of air an eerie rattle in his chest, “I’m all here.”

"Can I grab you anything?" Dean asked, "Some water, a Scotch maybe?"

Sam grinned weakly at Dean's attempt at humor, his long legs too heavy under the thick blankets, his skull sunken against the extra pillows Dean had used to prop him up this morning.  At least his eyes were clear, indicating a mental presence that had been missing for almost two days. 

"Make it a double," he suggested, even the tug of a smile against his mouth quickly wearing Sam out.  Dean’s own attempt at cheerfulness was fading fast, and he worried the edge of Sam’s bedspread.  Castiel’s promised return was both a relief and a new set of worries.  Dean was torn up, worried that Cas wouldn’t get here soon enough and then worried about how to act when he did get here.

 “Something on your mind?”  Sam asked.  Dean hesitated, wondering how much to tell.  

“When Cas comes back,” he began, “We’re gonna…we want to try…things are gonna be different.” 

“With you and Cas.” Sam relaxed, and his expression was now one of patience.  Okay, so maybe Dean was more transparent than he thought.

“With everything,” Dean continued, hands restless, “But...yeah.  And I'm bringing it up now, because when Castiel shows up and I'm six kinds of freaked out, I need _you_ freaking out to not be one of those six things.  You got me?”

“No offense,” Sam told him, “But what you and Cas get up to behind closed doors is not exactly the first thing on my mind right now.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Dean agreed, shaking his head with a grin, “I’m trying to think long term here.  Are you gonna be okay with this?”  “This” was a lame, half-hearted gesture towards himself, now representing one half of a possibly same-sex relationship, or maybe trying to indicate the parts of himself that might not represent their father’s idea of a man anymore.  Either way, Dean was holding his breath.

“Dude,” Sam grinned again, “You’re my big brother.  And Cas is pretty damn close to stepping over that line himself.  I just want us to be a family again.  And if that means you two holding hands at the breakfast table then I’m down.”

“Okay,” Dean agreed, relieved, “But then how do you feel with graphic make-out sessions at the breakfast table?  ‘Cause there’s a few uses for maple syrup that I feel like Cas would really-“ 

“Jesus Dean,” Sam exclaimed, trying futilely to cover his ears, “I’m on my sickbed here and you want to make me _more_ nauseous?  Jerk.” 

“Get used to it bitch,” Dean laughed, loud this time, “Cas and I have a lot to make up for.”

“I hope I’m there to see the non-gross parts of that,” Sam said, his smile cracking a little, crumbling back to exhaustion and nerves. 

“I guarantee it,” Dean vowed somewhat rashly, “I told you: me and Cas have some big plans to get you better.”  Sam nodded, as though he wasn’t sure he believed him, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

"Can you make me a promise?" Sam entreated.

"Sure.  'Cause we've gotten real good at keeping those," Dean joked, but Sam's brow was tight. 

"Don't take it out on him."  Dean frowned.  Sam’s face was going slightly desperate, with the speed only a guy with a fever climbing steadily past one hundred could manage. 

"What are you talking about?" he asked. 

"If something happens, or he doesn't get here in time," Sam said, enunciating each syllable carefully, "Don't take it out on Cas."

“You’re gonna be fine, man,” Dean insisted, “Cas has a plan-“

“But if it doesn’t work,” Sam implored, “You can’t fall apart and lash out.  I know it’s a lot to ask but if I don’t make it out of this one, it’s not on you and it’s not on Cas.  Please, Dean.”

“I think I like you better when you’re hallucinating,” Dean mumbled, but Sam’s gaze was unyielding. 

“Dean.”

“You know me, Sammy,” Dean sighed, “When things get bad I clam up and explode.  I don’t do it because it’s fun.  It’s just the way I’ve always been.  But…me and Cas have been talking.  About changes like that.”

“And?”  Sam’s eyes were starting to get far away.

“And I can’t promise I’ll be able to carry on in domestic bliss without you,” Dean continued, “We already know how that turns out.  But I promise to keep talking.”  Sam relaxed against his pillows, relief evident in his oversized frame.

“Close enough,” Sam smiled, eyelids fluttering, “And don’t worry.”

“Worry about what?” Dean could see Sam slipping away, his breathing steady but the fever pulling his thoughts back to the surreal.

“Don’t worry about Dad,” Sam assured him, patting Dean’s arm, “We’ll find him.  And when we do, he’ll be so proud he won’t even care that you’re a little gay.  I know it.”

Sam’s smile was wide and Dean knew the brother he was talking to couldn’t be more than twenty two, or at least he thought he was.  Dean just nodded, squeezing Sam’s hand until he nodded off into a restless, fevered sleep. 

* * *

 

The firing range was becoming one of Dean’s favorite rooms.  Tough hunt? Firing range.  Cabin fever?  Firing range.  Brother losing touch with reality as he slowly dies of an angelic immunodeficiency disease?  Firing range.  Yeah.

Dean was on his third clip when he heard the door open and heavy footsteps sounded on the concrete floors.  Too heavy.  The weight of a smaller guy trying to measure up to the two giants he was currently living in close quarters with.

“You’re not allowed in here Kev,” Dean chided without looking away from the target.

“I’m not a little brother you can boss around,” Kevin shot back.  Dean fired off another round; pretending Kevin’s comment didn’t sting a little. 

“My secret bunker, my rules,” he huffed at last, flicking the safety back on his handgun before turning to address the young prophet, “You’re not going near a weapon until I know you’re not gonna go after Crowley with it.”

“He killed my mom.”

“He killed a lot of people,” Dean snapped, “He also knows the name of every demon topside and down under, so we’re all gonna have to cowboy up.”  Kevin’s anger flagged and the prophet sagged against the concrete wall of the range.  Dean’s steady drip of guilt surged.

“Kevin,” Dean said, softer, “I don’t mean that your mom doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t you?” Kevin asked, a healthy bite still in his words, “Dead moms?  Girlfriends?  It’s like I’m joining the hunting fraternity and this is just the initiation.  So I’m pissed.  I haven’t been through anything you and Sam haven’t already.  What does any of it _matter_?”

“Okay that is exactly how I _don’t_ want you to think,” Dean groaned, “Speaking from experience, that is gonna leave you looking back on a long string of dead friends, not girlfriends, and a soulless brother addicted to demon blood.  If you’re pissed, be pissed.  In the end it’s the touchy feely crap that gets you through the day.”

“Right now it feels like the touchy feely stuff is killing me slowly.”  Kevin was still slumped against the wall, and it was almost like a blow as Dean realized the kid was just as tired as he was. 

“Welcome to the club,” Dean grimaced, “It’s called angst.  Don’t undervalue that shit.  It’s what stopped the Apocalypse in ’09.”

Kevin laughed, some of the bitterness falling away. 

Dean crouched beside the prophet, reminded suddenly of the pep talks his dad used to give him during training.  John always took to one knee, talking with Dean eye to eye as he corrected his aim or his stance.  It made Dean feel like they were equals, two men having a conversation instead of a boy taking orders from his dad.  Dean was glad to remember that amid all the baggage John had dumped on him over the years, he’d still taught Dean a few things worth knowing.  Looking Kevin in the eye Dean gripped him by the shoulder.

“I know our lives aren’t fun,” Dean began, “And I know I’m not the best guy to try and confide in, but don’t ever feel like what you’re going though is meaningless, or that you’re alone in it.  If I ever said that, or made you think that, I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

Kevin considered Dean carefully, nodding slowly. 

“You’ve really been working on your life philosophies lately, huh?”  Dean groaned, giving the prophet a good cuff upside the head for being smart. 

“I was trying to have a moment here, Kev,” Dean complained, “And now it’s gone.”

“Ooh,” Kevin laughed, “Have you told Castiel about your new feeling sharing policy?”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, ruffling the young man’s hair.  Kevin was being a sarcastic little shit, but Dean saw through the bravado.  Things were gonna be better for them now.      

“So when Cas gets back are you two gonna do it or should I start gearing up for more unnecessary sexual tension?”

“I’m going to check on Sam,” Dean hedged loudly, practically booting Kevin out of the range and locking the door behind him before redirecting toward the small bedroom that Sam had long ago claimed for his own.

They were en route when Dean stopped Kevin with a raised hand. 

“Do you hear that?” he asked, straining for a low sound muffled by the thick walls. 

“No,” Kevin grumbled, “Hear what?”

“Voices,” Dean breathed, and suddenly his feet were carrying him swiftly to the war room, the sounds growing stronger as he scaled the iron stairs.  It was definitely voices, strangers, most of them anyway.  But Dean stood before the entrance to the bunker, waiting to hear the one familiar gravelly tone that would make all the difference. 

 _Please, everyone!_   And there it was.  Still muffled as to be barely audible through the thick steel.   The other voices died down as Castiel addressed them.  _Please remain calm.  We will be safe once we are inside._

Inside.  Castiel was here.   Dean pictured the former angel, attempting to control the throng of his brethren, expression harried and hair a mess.  Silence fell, and Dean imagined Castiel raising a hand to knock on the impermeable access hatch. 

Dean couldn’t wait that long.

Dean swung open the heavy door and there was Cas: tired, beautiful, and surrounded by a baker’s dozen worth of angels.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life sucks, and we don't recommend it if you're trying to write a quality fic. We apologize that this is so short, but we should only have about two more chapters to go if everything goes as scheduled! Thanks for sticking with us and we hope you enjoy the homestretch of Talk to Me

Castiel held his breath as the hunter’s face first registered shock, then muted joy, the seconds ticking by sluggishly. Dean was mostly as he remembered him, maybe thinner, maybe with slightly longer hair. The summer sun had left the tips lighter than the darker roots underneath. A few new freckles powdered his nose. The details didn’t matter though, he was unmistakably Dean.

“Hey man,” he said, his words breathy with exhalation.

Cas nodded, allowing a small smile to play on his mouth. He felt foggy, as if this were happening underwater. His voice cracked on the phonation.

“Hello Dean. We—Can we come in?”

Dean jerked to life, huffing out a “Sure, sure,” before standing aside and ushering them in with a wave of his arm. He eyed the angels as they shuffled in, dragging their feet, but they always turned back to look at Cas who took his place to the right of Dean.

For former agents of the divine host, the fallen angels moved at a deadening pace. First, came Rebecca, the angel who had noticed that they were cut off from angel radio once they inhabited corporeal bodies. Not to be outdone, Remiel followed behind, eyes scanning the cavernous entryway. They rest filed in, some clinging to Rebecca for her motherly aura, others to Remiel who were seeking a leader. Ambriel took her place next to Castiel, looking Dean up and down.

“It’s good to see you again, Dean Winchester,” she said, a rare smile ghosting her face.

Confusion registered on Dean’s face, and Castiel belatedly understood. “I believe you and Ambriel met, Dean, she just looks different now.”

“Oh we go way back.” A smirk played on the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Finally found a meat suit that’s legal, eh?”

Ambriel’s eyes flashed, “This is not a me—“ she cut off, turning to Castiel, eyes ablaze with her own special brand of fire, “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Tell me what?” Castiel didn’t recognize the new lines that appeared on the hunter’s forehead.

“Castiel, did you bring us here so we could watch you chat with your human? Or was there a greater purpose in mind?” Remiel’s  voice interrupted, overly nasal to provide resonance.

Castiel ignored his brother, addressing Dean once more, “I didn’t keep this from you on purpose, I just wanted to make sure it would work first before getting your hopes up and then we got here so fast and—“

“Cas.” Dean interrupted, placing on hand on the former angel’s shoulder, “Just tell me.”

Castiel exhaled, letting the warmth of Dean’s hand spread throughout his body. Words churned in his chest, dying before they could pass his lips. _I missed you so much. Can we make up for lost time?_

Instead, he stuck to the business end of things. “None of the angels in this room have human vessels, they have their own bodies now.” Dean’s eyebrows shot up.  “After the confrontation with Abaddon, Hadarniel discovered that he was not possessing a human, but had in fact created his own vessel through sheer force of will.”

A tick of time passed before Dean spoke. “So… Amber here, she’s not possessing anyone?”

“ _Ambriel_ has her own body now, and can do what she pleases, guilt free,” Ambriel cut in. “And before you ask, my previous vessel has been returned, unharmed, to her parents.”

“That’s… awesome, Cas,” Dean said, finally meeting the angel’s eyes, “Really it is. I can’t really wrap my mind around it… But what does it have to do with helping Sam?”

“ _Curing_ Sam,” Castiel said, “This is what God intended for us on earth, so we—they are at their most powerful. They have the power to cure Sam. To purify him.”

Dean placed his hands on his waist, nodding as if all the cogs were fitting into place. “The Crown of Twelve Stars shit that Kevin wouldn’t shut up about. There’s twelve angels here.”

“Precisely,” Hadarniel cut in, emerging from the back of the group. “And we must act fast. Where is your brother?”

Kevin chose that moment to poke his head around the corner from the basement stairwell. “I’ll show you to the royal suite. Just down the hall.” The angels inched their way towards the prophet, happy to have concrete instructions. Kevin tossed a quick “Hey Cas, glad you’re back!” over his shoulder before heading down the hallway.

… Which left him alone with Dean in the hallway.

“Cas, about—“

“Dean, let’s take care of your brother. The rest can wait.” The words were out before he could stop them, dreading what was on the other side of this conversation. He didn't want to know. Not yet.

Dean sighed and nodded, his shining eyes fading away, turning toward where his sick brother lay in bed waiting for a miracle. “Yeah. Yeah you’re right. Thanks for this. I don’t think I need to tell you how much it means.”

Castiel shrugged, breaking their eye contact and making to follow the angels. “Don’t thank me yet. We can only wait and see.”

* * *

 


	22. Chapter 22

Dean let Cas get a few steps ahead, nearly to Sam’s door before a small panic seized him and he called out to the former angel.    

“Hey, hey Cas wait just a second-“

Dean’s hand landed on Castiel’s shoulder again but this time his whole body followed, tugged like an iron shaving to an electromagnet.  His arms cinched around Castiel’s neck and Dean felt a shift, like a missing cog had been nudged back into place as Castiel gasped in surprise.  Tentative hands pressed against Dean’s back as Castiel returned his embrace, wide palms lining up with Dean’s spine.  Castiel’s fringe of dark hair tickled at Dean’s nose as he tucked his chin against former angel’s wrinkled collar. 

“No matter what happens,” Dean mumbled into Castiel’s worn flannel, “I am really,  _really,_  glad you’re here, man.”  Castiel’s arms tightened around Dean’s ribs, his breath hitching slightly upon hearing Dean’s words. He felt the former angel’s diaphragm contract as he drew breath to respond. 

“Dean?  What’s going on?” 

Oh shit.  Sam.  Dean pulled away from Castiel and hurried into the room where his brother was being stared at curiously by a dozen angels who seemed to be just as well-versed as Cas in the “understanding personal space” department.  Kevin was tucked somewhere in the back of the room, trying to keep the interested but mostly silent angels from crowding in too close.  Sam was sitting up at least, supported by a wedge of pillows and looking slightly panicked, reaching for the demon knife that had been kept tucked under the mattress until Dean had removed it when Sam first started getting delirious. 

“Whoa, Sammy everything’s fine,” Dean soothed, slipping in between the numerous angels to reach his brother’s side, “It’s just Cas and his angel buddies.  They’re here to save the day.”

“Cas is here?” Sam asked, looking around, “Who are all these people?”

“We are angels,” Ambriel supplied, stepping forward with Hadarniel close behind, “Fallen ones anyway.  We’ve met before, Sam Winchester.  Do you remember me?” Sam frowned, eyes searching the fair haired angel before nodding slowly.

“You came to get Dean,” Sam said, “Ambriel.  But you were in a different vessel.  What happened?”

“She is well,” Ambriel promised, “And I’m not in a vessel anymore.  But that’s something we’ll have plenty of time to talk about later.  Right now you are the priority.  Now if I may…”

Sam tensed as Ambriel touched him, and Dean placed his own hand on Sam’s shoulder, reassuring him.  Castiel wouldn’t bring anyone here to hurt them. 

Ambriel held a palm to Sam’s forehead and two fingers to his pulse, nodding to Castiel as he followed Dean inside the crowded bedroom. 

“It is as you had feared Castiel,” she confirmed. 

“What did you fear?” Dean asked Castiel, his hand still firm and comforting on Sam’s shoulder.  Castiel addressed both brothers.

“Sam’s illness during the trials was to be expected, as we learned later that they were meant to end in his death,” Castiel recounted, with an apologetic frown in Sam’s direction, “When you ceased the trials and the symptoms didn’t recede, I thought perhaps his demonic blood was to blame.”  Sam’s face fell, and Dean tightened his grip.

“I thought the trials had cured me of that,” Sam admitted, crestfallen. 

“That is what we’re here for,” Hadarniel interjected, “The demonic influences within you have essentially bottlenecked the heavenly ones, the overwhelming force of which is slowly killing you.  We, twelve pure angels, can together remove your demonic impurities, which will relieve you of the trial purifiers as well.”

“Do it,” Sam demanded, “Please, while I’m still here and not hallucinating or something.”

“Hang on,” Dean interrupted, “What  _exactly_ does this ‘purifying’ entail?  ‘Cause in case you guys haven’t noticed, heavenly rituals haven’t exactly been goin’ our way lately.”

“The act itself is merely a laying on of hands,” Castiel assured him, “It is meant to heal, Dean.  It may be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t be painful.”  Castiel looked confident, comfortable in his own skin even surrounded by a room full of strangers.  Dean liked the new edge of leadership on the former angel; the way the others looked to him for decisions to be made even as Had and Ambriel ran the ritual show.  Even in the tight space of the room, it was clear that Castiel was grouped with Dean and Sam, nearly shoulder to shoulder with Dean, rather than with the other angels, and it made Dean feel safe. 

“You trust these guys, Cas?” Dean asked quietly.  It wasn’t an accusation, or an attempt to undermine Castiel’s relationship with the angels.  It was a question asked soldier to soldier, with Dean’s full belief that Castiel wouldn’t lead him astray.  Sam’s breath rattled in the near silent room until Castiel gave his answer. 

“I know my trust hasn’t always been a help to our cause,” Castiel admitted, Dean wishing he could wipe away the painful memories that accompanied his words, “But yes.  We’ve had our disagreements, but in my time on the road I’ve come to trust Ambriel and Hadarniel with my life. I trust them with Sam’s.”

Both angels were staring at Castiel, a small smile tugging at Ambriel’s mouth, and Dean had the feeling that he was witnessing some kind of “moment” for Castiel’s weird little angel family.  Castiel looked away with an embarrassed flush to his cheeks, turning instead to Sam, who was growing paler by the moment.  Dean could see the signs of another fever spike on the way.  They needed to get this show on the road.  Castiel seemed to sense the coming crisis as well, as he rested a calming hand on Dean’s elbow.

“What do you say, Sam,” Castiel asked, “Should Ambriel proceed?” 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed quickly, hands tightening in his bedcovers, “Yeah, just hurry.”

The other angels began to move in closer, still quiet, but clearly excited.  Dean figured this wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence, even for angels.  Then again, they were all fallen now, so everything was new again.  Dean was surprised when Hadarniel stopped and faced him directly.

“Perhaps you should step outside,” he suggested, “The amount of angelic power-“

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Dean growled, protective over his younger brother.  Hadarniel frowned, but Ambriel calmed him with a hand on his forearm.

“His presence is required, brother,” Ambriel reminded the taller angel, “Sam will need a familiar presence, or he could reject the healing.”

“Cas too,” Sam entreated, to Dean’s surprise, “I need them both here.”  Castiel looked taken aback, and Sam just grinned weakly.

“What?” he asked, “Dean isn’t the only Winchester who missed you, you know?”  Castiel smiled then, warm and quiet and Dean gave the hand at his elbow a quick squeeze.  

“Dean and Castiel can both stay,” Ambriel agreed, “In fact, you can assist us.  Can you support your brother so that he’s sitting up?”  Dean nodded and between him and Cas they got Sam propped up with his feet hanging off the end of the mattress, making him accessible from 360 degrees, as Ambriel directed.  Sam’s body was fever hot, but his hands were cold, and Dean didn’t need Castiel’s fearful expression to know that they were cutting it down to the wire.    

“Kevin,” Cas said suddenly, as the young prophet reappeared from the multitude, “You probably shouldn’t be in here for this.”  Crap, Dean had nearly forgotten about him.

“I want to stay too,” Kevin insisted, but Hadarniel shook his head.

“In this case I must insist,” he said with a hand on the young man’s shoulder, “As a prophet you are more vulnerable to a spell like this, and we do not know what the repercussions could be.  I will not risk the reader of God’s Word.”

“Sorry Kev,” Dean said with a grimace, “There’s too much at stake here to put you at risk.  You’re gonna have to sit this one out.”

Kevin was clearly about to plant his feet and argue some more, but then Ambriel stepped in close with a soothing expression. 

“Look at Sam Winchester, Kevin,” she murmured, “We can’t waste time.  Let me walk you out while Hadarniel prepares so that we can complete the spell and reunite you with your family.”

Kevin seemed to soften at her words, and more so when he got a really good look at Ambriel, who even Dean had to admit was pretty attractive.  Kevin followed Ambriel out quietly, with a nod at Dean and a thumbs-up for Sam while Hadarniel started arranging the other angels one by one in a circle around the bed.  Things got a little chaotic for a second as everyone was eager to get to their spot.  There was a lot of jostling and even Castiel jumped in on the corrections, with the occasional “Esther, to the left a little,” “Raziel, behind Daniel is better,” and a pretty frequent “Ramiel, stop bossing the others around!”  Dean chuckled at that, and Cas glared, but in a way that told Dean there would be a good story behind it.  He reached out to rub between Castiel’s shoulder blades and some of the tension eased from the former angel’s shoulders. 

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” Dean assured him, “We trust you, right Sam?”

“Sure thing Jess,” Sam mumbled, “I’ll be there in a minute.”  Shit, shit, shit.  Sam was sweating through his shirt and Dean’s hand against the back of Sam’s forehead practically came away burning.

“Alright Had,” Dean yelped, “Are we almost good to go here?”

“Yes,” Hadarniel agreed, “We only await Ambriel to complete the crown.”

“I’m here,” Ambriel chimed, stepping back in from the hallway, “Where should I be placed?” 

“You will be the jewel, so to speak,” Hadarniel instructed, “You should be directly in front of Sam.  Perhaps kneeling on the bed would be most comfortable.”

Dean fidgeted as Ambriel got into position.  The other angels were arranged in a circle around Sam, with Dean and Cas kind of stuck in between holding him upright.  At Hadarniel’s command the angels each placed one hand on Sam’s brow, lining up all the way around his head to form almost a literal crown.  Their arms reached in and around Dean and Cas.  It was close and claustrophobic, and Sam was sinking further down in Dean’s arms. 

“Cas-“ Dean gasped.

“It’s alright,” Castiel assured him, “Sam is slipping into a trance state under the angel’s influence.  It’s comparable to a medically induced coma.  He’s ready, Ambriel.”

Ambriel raised two fingers, ready to press to Sam’s forehead.

“Accept this blessing of the Lord, Sam Winchester,” she recited, the ritual spell brief, “In the name of Heaven we cleanse you.”  At Hardarniel’s nod she touched Sam, fingers locking into place as if drawn by gravity, completing the crown.  Sam remained motionless, but an electric hum began to fill the room.  Dean felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, and the long top of Castiel’s unruly hair was standing on end from the static electricity.  Sam’s bedside lamp sparked and shorted out, but the room didn’t sink into darkness, a white light emanating from the angels and from Sam himself.  The noise was rising in pitch as the light increased, and Sam’s body grew hotter under Dean’s hands. He and Cas were practically sitting in the crucible, and Sam was the molten metal.  The light was growing unbearable, and yet the angels stayed unmoving as Sam began to shake and seize.

“Dean!” Castiel had to shout over the now deafening sound, “Close your eyes!”

Dean slammed his eyes shut just as the white light exploded, knocking him back against the headboard and away from Sam.  He could feel the thud of Castiel hitting the wall beside him before the sensory overload became too much and Dean slipped into unconsciousness along with his brother.  

* * *

 

“Dean.”  That voice was familiar.  Warm and deep and rough, maybe just a little commanding.  But didn’t Castiel leave?  Yeah, Cas was probably lost on some god forsaken Midwestern highway right now.  No…wait.  That wasn’t right.  Cas was here.  Cas was back in the bunker with him. 

“Dean, wake up.  It’s all over.”  Someone was holding Dean’s hand.  It wasn’t as smooth as he remembered.  There were a few new calluses.  Dean tightened his slack grip.  Castiel was here.  Cas was holding his hand.  Castiel was back.  Dean hoped Sam was awake so he could see Cas too.  Actually, he should really check on Sam.  His fever was climbing again and Dean…

Sam.  The events of the last hour flooded back and Dean practically bolted upright on Sam’s bed. 

“Sam!” Dean barked, “What happened?  Did it work?  Is he-“

“Dean, calm down,” Castiel urged him, thumb running circles over the back of Dean’s hand, “The blast was a little more powerful than we guessed and you hit your head, but everything’s fine.”

“Everything?” Dean repeated, “Even Sam?” 

“Look for yourself.”  Dean tore his gaze away from Castiel, finally taking in the rest of the bedroom.  Most of the angels were gone, only Ambriel and Hadarniel remaining.  Kevin was back as well, looking psyched for probably the first time all summer as he looked up at Sam.  Sam.  Jesus Christ, the kid was  _standing_.  Well, he was leaning on Kevin a little but Sam was on his feet and the sickly bruises under his eyes were gone.  His shoulders were square again and his cheeks were flushed, but vital instead of feverish.  Sam’s eyes, clear and bright, were focused on Dean.

“Nice of you to doze off, man,” he joked.  Dean was on his feet and across the room before even the angels could blink, wrapping his little brother in a bone crushing hug. 

“Welcome back, man,” was all Dean could choke out.  He could feel Sam’s pulse, strong and steady, and it was like an anvil had been lifted off his chest. 

“Good to be back,” Sam replied, slapping Dean on the back before they pulled apart.  Sam ruffled Kevin’s hair, and smiled at Cas, who had joined them.  Dean was pretty much ready to burst.  Almost the whole family together.  

“How are you feeling, Sam?” Castiel asked.  Dean couldn’t keep a hand off the small of Castiel’s back. 

“Hungry,” Sam answered with a laugh, “Like I haven’t eaten in months.”

“Don’t you worry, little brother,” Dean assured him, “I’ve got just the thing.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. This is the last official chapter, excepting the epilogue that will be posted sometime over the weekend. We just want to thank all of you for sticking with us this summer while we played around in this universe. Enjoy!

“Are you sure, sister? This is what you want?”

Castiel smiled as Ambriel stood with her head held high in front of Hadarniel. The rest of the angels had already left, and he was meaning to follow them, with Ambriel in tow. However, the younger angel had different plans, declaring that she wished to stay with Castiel and the Winchesters. Castiel couldn’t keep the glow from his face, ecstatic that he had fixed one familial relationship.

“I’m sure. I can provide a home base for you and the other angels. You need to have a place you can depend on.” She glanced at Castiel, who nodded his encouragement, secretly humming with glee.

Dean laughed softly next to him, muttering something about “What’s one more mouth to feed?”

“Ambriel doesn’t require food.”

“Figure of speech man.”

“I see,” Hadarniel responded, shooting them an annoyed glare. He looked uncomfortable, as if plagued by a strange, new emotion, “I thank you for your service then, Ambriel. I wish you good fortune. And to you as well, Castiel,” He nodded in Castiel’s direction.

“Thank you brother, but this isn’t goodbye,” Castiel assured the older angel, “We’re going to fix our home, or at least get the angels back on track. You have my word.”

Hadarniel inclined his head, eyes shining slightly. With a smirk and swish he was gone.

“Always with the dramatics,” Ambriel muttered under her breath.

“He’s about as good at goodbyes as you are, Cas,” Dean joked, his mood jovial.

Castiel didn’t want to think about goodbyes anymore. He looked at Dean, his green eyes soft, and thinking that it would just take a couple of words. _Can we talk alone?_ But would that scare him? Maybe he should just sweep him up into his arms in front of his brother, the prophet, and the angel.

As if that wouldn’t scare him at all.

“So… I know this is a moment and everything, but did you guys hear me when I said I was really hungry? And also still too weak to cook anything?” Sam said, his sarcasm dulled by his genuine smile and the color in his cheeks.

So Castiel did none of those things, allowing Dean to turn towards his brother and clap him on the shoulder as they strode towards the kitchen. “I’m sure we can figure something out. Kevin! Come and eat!”

Castiel was aware of Ambriel’s presence beside him. “Hmm. It would seem that you are both ensnared in a mating dance too complicated for even me to decipher. What’s your next plan of attack?” Her face was serious, but her hazel eyes were playful. Castiel chose to ignore the comment in favor of following the two brothers into the kitchen.

Kevin and Sam had already settled at the small kitchen table while Dean bustled around, grabbing a large pasta pot and filling it with water from the tap. Cas also felt the beginnings of hunger, his last meal having been a plastic-wrapped snack cake purchased from a generic gas station somewhere in West Kansas. His mouth watered as Dean pulled out not one, but six blue boxes of macaroni and cheese from the cupboard.

“What?” he asked, seeing Castiel’s wide eyed stare, “This is all we got, haven’t made a grocery run in a while.

Cas shrugged, more than thrilled with the possibility of macaroni and cheese. He made a mental note to take Dean grocery shopping sometime soon. Not to Walmart or anywhere too big, being on the road had made him hate super-stores; he wanted to find a market with fresh fruit and flowers that still had bees on them. Or maybe a small, family run grocery store that specialized in red meat so that he could make Dean a quality hamburger. Maybe they could browse up and down the aisles together, hands touching slightly and shoulders brushing up against each other—

“You with us, Cas?”

Dean’s voice yanked him out of his daydream, landing him back in the kitchen. “I apologize. What did you say?”

“Just asking about your car. You total it?” Dean laughed, but it was nervous, as if he held genuine concern for Castiel’s beat up Cavalier.

“The car’s outside, and still intact. You did a good job fixing it, it never gave me a problem.”

“That’s good.” Dean’s voice was casual as he poured the pasta into the boiling water, ripping open six artificial cheese packets at once to be set aside for later.

“So… Where did you _go,_ Cas?” Kevin asked.

“South, at first. The coordinates indicated that a large group of angels fell in Louisiana, specifically. That’s where I found Ambriel,” he nodded at his friend across the table, “but the rest of the angels were nowhere to be found.”

“That was Abaddon, right? Dean said that she had all the angel grace held up in crazy mojo-ed jars.”

Cas recounted the tale as best as he could remember, the details still fuzzy from the poison. He described the prison constructed by Abaddon, the memory of it making his hairs stand on end. As if on cue, Crowley stumbled in at this part, wholly unsurprised to see the former angel and Ambriel seated at the table.

“Well I have to make sure you don’t slander me,” said the former king of hell, leaning up against the doorframe. He eyed Ambriel timidly, as if she might attack him at any moment.

Ambriel rolled her eyes, chiming in to tell the rest of the story from there. Dean remained silent, arranging and rearranging assorted spice containers sitting on the counter as she spoke of Castiel’s impairment from the demon blood and how they escaped.

Sam’s face fell at the mention of demon blood. “Why did it have such a strong effect on you? I mean… I lived with it my whole life.”

“Demon blood can be tolerated in the human body if dosed with it in small amounts as an infant,” Ambriel explained gently, “An adult has no way to fight its effects, resulting in paralysis, pain, hysteria…”

She let the last word hang in the air. Crowley’s voice cut through the tension. “Well I can’t say much for the pain and paralysis, though it is nasty stuff, but the hysteria certainly is something, wouldn’t you say Dean?”

Dean didn’t turn around, preferring to hum Smoke on the Water while he drained the gigantic pasta pot. Steam rose in the air, swirling with opalescence before disappearing. Anger pooled in Castiel’s chest at his old business partner. Crowley may be something close to human, but his humor was still fully demonic.

Crowley continued to sneer. “Something wrong, Castiel? You look a might bit… constipated.”

Dean gripped the counter tightly, his right hand inching its way over to the handle of a butcher knife. Luckily, Kevin jumped in.

“Whoa whoa this is a happy occasion. _Happy._ Not sure you guys still know how that works… but whatever. You,” he pointed at Crowley, “Get out. Before Dean knifes you. Hell, before _I_ knife you. Why we let you out of the dungeon I’ll never know.”

Crowley huffed but sauntered out of the room without another word. Dean sighed, finally pouring the powdered cheese into the pasta along with butter and milk and locating a huge wooden spoon to stir it. Castiel mourned the relaxed, happy Dean that had been present before Crowley jumped in, before painful memories had resurfaced.

Sam made small talk, asking about the journal and how the mechanics of it all worked so well. Castiel explained every detail of the sigil, happy to ward away any awkward silences that might creep up again. Dean doled out the macaroni and cheese after some time, taking Crowley’s place leaning against the door frame to eat his own. Despite its simplicity, the food tasted delicious to Castiel, who had forgotten what freshly cooked _hot_ food tasted like. He let out an involuntary groan at the first bite, making Dean chuckle softly and Ambriel roll her eyes characteristically as she stared down at her own pile of orange pasta.

“I don’t eat,” she said simply.

“Not even for special occasions?” asked Kevin, his mouth full and fork already poised for more.

“Well I suppose I could… try it.” She scooped one lone noodle onto her fork and gingerly placed it in her mouth, all eyes on her to gauge her reaction. Her face scrunched up and her swallow look pained. Setting her fork down, she pushed the bowl away and said, “Is that sufficient?”

Castiel didn’t know who laughed first, but it was a wonderful sound.

* * *

 

Sam was the first to drop his bowl in the sink and announce that he was heading to bed on the grounds that he may not be dying anymore but he was still freakin’ wiped.  Kevin agreed a little too quickly, in Dean’s opinion, for there not to be some ulterior motive to their exits. 

“Come on guys,” Dean whined, “It’s not even dark out!”

“Hey,” Kevin chided, “Sam needs sleep, I need to work on the tablet, and you two,” the prophet indicated Dean and Castiel, “Need to get your acts together.  Ambriel, you want to give me a hand with some rune translations?”

 “Anything to help these two stumble their way into intimacy,” Ambriel muttered, slipping gracefully from her seat at the table to follow Kevin into the hallway. Dean’s eyes flicked to Castiel, who fortunately looked just as slack-jawed as Dean perceived himself to be.  Sam snickered, still leaning against the counter.

“I think Kevin might have found a kindred spirit,” he commented, placing the last of the bowls near the sink before clapping Dean on the shoulder, “At least when it comes to handling your romantic tension.”

“Jesus Sammy-“ Dean was pretty much ready to die, now looking anywhere but Cas as a blush crept up his neck.  Sam raised his hands in surrender, heading for the hallway himself.

“No pressure,” he said lightly, “Glad you’re back, Cas.  You have my blessing, btw.”

“You need any help?” Dean offered, ignoring his brother’s teasing.  Sam smiled, tired but flushed.

“Nah,” Sam said, “For once I think I’m gonna be fine, demon blood free for once.  Thanks, Dean.”

Dean watched Sam go with bittersweet relief.  He was glad, he was fucking  _thrilled_ , that Sam was better, but there was always that little twinge of melancholy when Sam found a new level of independence.    Dean’s fear of obsolescence was going to have to wait for another day, however.  There was a much more immediate, nerve-wracking, former angel/best friend shaped issue currently rising awkwardly from his place at the table.   Dean rubbed the back of his neck, a bit of an anxious habit, before meeting Castiel’s equally nervous gaze.

“They were just teasing, really man,” Dean said, trying for a friendly grin that probably read more as a grimace, “We’ve got plenty of time to talk later if you’re, you know, tired or anything…”  Castiel considered him carefully.  Dean knew full well what he was doing: giving Castiel an out, in case he’d had time to reconsider their hastily written agreement from a week ago.  Dean held his breath as Castiel shifted from foot to foot, actually taking a few steps toward the door before seeming to steel himself and turn back around.

“I’m not too tired,” Cas decided at last, and Dean exhaled in relief even though that now left him and Cas alone with absolutely no idea what to say to each other.  Dean was still leaning against the counter under the pretense of starting the dishes, though that had been forgotten watching Castiel stand nervously by his seat, still uncertain where to go.

“I’m glad Ambriel seems to be fitting in here, anyway,” Castiel noted, filling the gaping silence.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckled, “We had a bit of a rough start but she’s got spark to her.  She’ll put Kevin through his paces for sure.”

“…It’s alright for me to stay, right?”  Dean felt confusion as Castiel sank back into the hard backed kitchen chair.

“What,” Dean asked, “You mean like in the kitchen?”  Castiel laughed, barely more than a huff of air next to the quiet hum of the fridge.

“I mean here in your bunker,” Castiel elaborated, “I’m asking if it’s alright that I’m staying here permanently.”

The promise of that word,  _permanently_ , grounded Dean’s feet on the floor and made him more determined than ever not to let Castiel slip away again.  It was tempered by the ring of uncertainty in Castiel’s words, as if Cas really thought Dean was gonna turn around and show him the door.

“All I ever wanted was you here,” Dean said, “It’s all I’ve been begging you for all summer, man.  How can you even ask that?

“I was worried,” Castiel confessed, eyes on the floor, “That perhaps once Sam was healed…you wouldn’t have need of me.”  Dean swallowed, chest contracting at the former angel’s nervous admission. 

“None of that,” he said sharply, Castiel’s gaze snapping up to Dean’s own in surprise, “It’s okay to be nervous.  Hell, I’m about ten seconds from a big gay panic attack myself.  But don’t…” Dean stumbled over the right words.  “Don’t let the doubt creep in.  I need you, Castiel, and not for your angel connections.”

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice was filled with old pain, “We have hurt each other in every way possible.  The things I’ve done-“

“Life’s too short to always be looking back,” Dean declared, crossing the clean tile, stopping just short of Castiel’s anxious form. 

“But how can I ever-“  Dean shook his head, cutting Castiel off, impatience and excitement thrumming in his veins.

“Man, you have literally got my feelings in writing,” Dean laughed, “And you’re still worried you’re gonna screw this up.”

Castiel frowned.   “Of course I am.”  Dean’s hand reached out to tousle Castiel’s dark hair practically of its own volition.  

“You worry too much,” Dean informed him, “And I should know.”  Quick as you please Dean darted away to find a crucial piece of evidence.

Dean’s journal was on the counter, tucked between the telephone directory and a cookbook Dean had picked up on a whim while waiting in a checkout line at the local mini-mart, put away during Dean’s impromptu cleaning binge a few days earlier.  Dean plucked it from its place, returning to Castiel’s feet before the former angel had a chance to realize he had gone. 

Dean sank to his knees in front of the former angel, laying the thick journal out on Castiel’s lap. 

“Look at this,” Dean urged, flipping through the text filled pages, “Look at what we’ve already done.  It’s practically a freakin’  _novel_  on you and me and this thing we’re both afraid of starting and it’s not finished yet.”

“No?” Castiel asked, tracing over a section of Dean’s cramped script.   Dean felt the stirrings of an idea, spurred on by the words under Castiel’s fingers, admissions Dean never could have voiced aloud but had written down, freed up by alcohol and the veil of the written word.  

“Nope,” Dean continued, “I’m gonna keep writing to you, Cas.  All the things I can’t say, all the things I’m nervous about doing, I’m gonna write it down in here for you.”

“Everything,” Castiel murmured, turning over a new blank page in the book, “And maybe I can do the same?  Ask you questions about human things?”

“Question, comments, complaints,” Dean joked, “Anything.”      

“Can you start?” Castiel entreated, “Can we do it right now?”  Dean was stroking over the back of Castiel’s hand, reminiscent of his time spent watching over Cas after his rescue from Abaddon and yet completely new. 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “Absolutely.”

“My journal is still in the car,” Castiel whispered, swallowing hard.

“It’s okay,” Dean breathed back, “We’ll just use mine for now.”  A pen was found in a mug full of knick knacks, already accumulated from less than a year of living in the underground lair.  It was blue, long cap-less and only a little spotty as Dean tested it on the edge of the page before grinning up at Castiel. 

“Ready?” Dean asked, the journal still balanced on Castiel’s knees and Dean still perched unsteadily in between.  

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted, but his mouth was curving into a smile, almost as if against its will, and Dean felt another flutter of excitement low in his gut.

“That’s okay,” Dean assured him, “One step at a time.” Castiel nodded, and Dean mirrored his shy smile before turning his attention to the blank page before him and deciding on what to say. 

It was strangely intimate, the soft scratch of the cheap ballpoint across the white paper, made gold by the humming kitchen lights.  More intimate still was the soft exhale of breath as Castiel watched Dean write out each word, and the slight fidgeting of his knees, denim wrapped and warm under Dean’s elbows.      

_I was lost without you._

Castiel’s next exhale was sharp as Dean completed his sentence and looked up; forgetting just how close Castiel was, practically curled over him in the wooden chair.  After so long going without, the sight of Castiel’s blue orbs up close and personal was like catching a harvest moon and coming to a dead stop in the middle of the interstate just to stare up at the sky in awe and disbelief.  Castiel was looking down on him like the benevolent guardian angel Dean’s mom always used to tell him he had, and damn it if this wasn’t the safest Dean had felt in months.  Maybe the same thing was occurring to Castiel because the former angel quirked a half smile and slipped the pen out of Dean’s grip, making sure to brush their fingers together before adding his own two cents to the journal page.    

_I missed watching over you._

Dean’s smile grew as the words appeared one by one, and he couldn’t help himself as this time he did more than just look at Castiel, bobbing up the negligible distance between them to plant a kiss at the corner of the former angel’s mouth.  It was shy and quick, like the uncertain exchanges between middle-schoolers just figuring out how a mouth could work, but with the pleasant scratch of day old stubble and the assurance of firm muscle where Dean’s hands still rested on Castiel’s thighs.   

“ _Dean_.”  Castiel’s cheeks were flushed and his breath was short as he wrapped his mouth around the short syllable and the sharp vowels of Dean’s name, taking that commanding edge that gave Dean shivers and grinding it down until all that was left was the smoke haze.  Dean let the sound wash over him as he reclaimed the pen and scribbled another sentence in their growing and lopsided column.

_I missed the sound of your voice._

Cas almost laughed as he tilted Dean’s chin back up for a real kiss, one with damp mouths and hot breath and damn, Dean had treated “kiss” like a four-letter word for too long.  Castiel had one hand still balancing the leather book in his lap and one at the nape of Dean’s neck, fingers toying with what was the barest hint of a curl where Dean had let his military cut get a little overgrown.  Dean didn’t even have time for a noise of protest before Castiel pulled away to scrawl out another sentiment.

_You need a haircut._

“Takes one to know one,” Dean teased as he tugged Cas back down by the collar so he could fit their mouths together again, the fabric soft and familiar under his hands.   _His_  shirt.  Dean’s hands smoothed over Castiel’s shoulders and down his arms, every inch releasing a new twist of heat into his blood.  He kissed the line of Castiel’s jaw right up to the pulse behind his ear, fingers bunched in the worn flannel that was keeping Castiel warm.  Keeping him safe.  He freed one hand to write blind across the page as he reclaimed Castiel’s mouth.

_I love that you’re wearing my shirt._

A tongue teased over the seam of Dean’s lips and then Castiel was in control and it was like back in the library sorting records only this was so much  _better._ There were no blurred senses or intentions as Castiel licked into Dean’s mouth and Dean managed to get his hands under the hem of Castiel’s shirt.  Castiel was trying to write without pulling away, gasping at the heat of Dean’s hands against his bare skin.

 _I love y-_ Dean didn’t see the last part of that sentence, and honestly it didn’t really bother him that much because his lips found the hollow of Castiel’s throat and the pen was clattering to the floor.  Castiel was wrapped around him, pulling Dean up for another kiss, deeper and more heated still, so Dean figured the exercise had done its work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep on the look out for some previously unpublished material that didn't make it into the final story! Epilogue coming soon :)


	24. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so late, and we won't bore you with excuses. So here is the epilogue! A long time coming, and we hope you all enjoy our take on Dean and Cas.

The door to Castiel’s old bedroom did open again. Not for him, but for Ambriel; so that she could have a spot in the bunker to call her own, even though she didn’t require sleep. Passing by the open doorway one evening, Castiel smiled when he saw that the angel-warrior had picked some late-season wildflowers and placed them in a red plastic cup.

Castiel greatly appreciated his new sleeping arrangements. After curing Sam and _thoroughly_ making-out in the kitchen, Dean and the former angel stumbled their way into Dean’s bedroom, laughing and kissing and settling into a new way of communication that didn’t involve mixed signals.

But if Castiel was being honest with himself, his favorite part had been the morning after.

“Cas… wake up.”

Lips, _familiar_ lips, pressed to his neck, easing him out his contended slumber. Nothing could have prepared him for the total bliss that came with a full eight hours after two months of sleeping in hard motel beds and in the back seat of his car. His muscles were relaxed and his eyelids heavy, growing lighter as his senses returned to him.  Dean’s breath caressed his skin while the hunter swirled his tongue around the Castiel’s collarbones. _Hmmm…_ Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, Dean would continue that particular activity for the rest of their days.

“C’mon, it’s almost nine…”

Nine o’clock seemed like a perfectly reasonable time to sleep until in Castiel’s mind; ten or eleven would be even better. But then Dean’s hand, splayed over his stomach, started to move in deliberate, feathery stroking movements and _that didn’t feel good at all, not in the traditional way_. Nevertheless, Castiel felt an involuntary laugh bubble up in his chest as his eyes shot open.

“Dean, wait, you have to stop that—“

But Dean only laughed as Castiel squirmed and shouted with laugher. His eyes were fully open now, and Dean crawled over him, caging him in a hell made of only—

“Really Cas? You’re that ticklish?”

Castiel, his breath coming shallow, took advantage of Dean’s momentary lapse in judgment to grasp at his friend’s waist and flip them over, effectively pinning Dean beneath him on the far right side of the bed. His arms landed above his head and Castiel took the opportunity to thread their fingers together, noting Dean’s eyes darkening by the second.

“I don’t think I care for that particular sensation.” Castiel’s voice came out like a growl, but his eyes were playful.

 Dean grinned, open mouthed and fox-like. “Duly noted.”

Castiel’s nerves settled from the “attack” and he began to take more notice of the fine specimen beneath him. Despite day old stubble and ever-settling crow’s feet, Dean looked younger than when he had met him almost five years ago. His shoulders settled back into the bed, relaxed and open, and his hands gripped at Castiel’s like he was afraid the former angel would let go. Their smiles faded, eyes darkening as feelings of mutual possession crept into the bed with them until Castiel had no choice but to lean down and press his lips to Dean’s in a sudden, open-mouthed kiss.

Although many other fun activities had been explored and thoroughly enjoyed the night before, Castiel knew he would never tire of just being able to _kiss_ Dean whenever they both deemed in appropriate.  He knew it had little to do with the perfunctory meeting of lips and _everything_ to do with how Dean squeezed at his hands and arched his back to gain more contact, their breath mingling with their barely-audible moans. He obliged the unsaid request, unlacing their hands so that Dean could pull him closer, running his hands down the former-angel’s back while Castiel settled on his forearms so that they were chest to chest, lips parting and tongues curling into each other’s mouths. Teeth clacked and their noses mashed together but Castiel could only be concerned with breathing in Dean, in sharing space and air and anything he would give.

Dean broke away, taking Castiel’s face in his hands. His eyes were wild, hair spiked in all directions from sleep and Castiel’s fingers.  “What the hell is this, man?” His voice was even rougher than usual, something dark and fearful lingering behind his eyes.

Castiel felt a pull at his chest; knowing the real question being asked. _Are you going to leave again? Are you going to leave me behind?_ Thinking of the angel wandering the halls and Kevin’s ever-growing piles of tablet translations, he knew they would be called to arms soon. The question was whether he would further danger the Winchesters and bring them into the fight.

Dean’s eyes flickered with hurt at Castiel’s pleading silence ringing with the answer: _please don’t ask me this yet_. He didn’t press the subject, instead he swallowed and grasped at the hairs at the base of Castiel’s neck to pull him in for another mind-numbing kiss, effectively answering with _Let’s talk about it another day._

* * *

Autumn crept into the bunker sooner rather than later. A crisp draft whistled through the hallways and a single lone pumpkin appeared on the kitchen table, probably bought by Sam at the farmers market. A few weeks went by, with the housemates settling into new routines and reviving old ones. Castiel enjoyed his time with Dean, but felt a distinct warmth for the rest of this strange, new family. And while Cas would rather like to be sprawled out on Dean’s bed all the time, memorizing every detail of the hunter’s freckled, perfect skin, they did find other ways to occupy themselves.

The first time they caught each other eaves-dropping on Kevin and Ambriel they laughed it off, but formed an unspoken agreement to continue the ritual. The two often convened in the library, where Ambriel would stare at the young prophet while he translated the ancient word of God, offering unsolicited advice and remarks. Kevin would respond on a spectrum of frustration and embarrassment, providing fine entertainment for Dean and his former angel.

“Now, Kevin, I realize the tablet was not meant for angels, but you might want to rethink that translation. The syntax seems off.” Ambriel, her feet propped up on the round table, shuffled through a stack of papers before finding the one she wanted, handing it to Kevin. It was any old Tuesday afternoon, and Dean and Castiel met up as usual outside of the library, listening and watching through a crack in the doorway.

“What? Oh… here? Yeah I’ll rework it later…” Cas noted Kevin’s redness in his usually brown-based complexion. Dean snickered beside him. “Listen Ambriel--“

“I wasn’t aware that I stopped listening.”

“No—it’s just a—never mind.”

The angel set her feet down on the ground, turning to face Kevin properly. “Was there something in particular you wanted me to listen to? Something pertaining to our goals, perhaps?”

Kevin cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. “No, it’s nothing. Let’s just get back to the tablet.” He tapped the stone slab with his pen, as if to show his dedication to the cause.

“Of course.”

Dean came up close behind Castiel, whispering almost inaudibly in his ear, “And here I thought Kevin had some game…”

“Ambriel is not just a girl,” Castiel muttered back. He felt a surge of protectiveness towards his angel partner in crime.

“Oh I know,” Dean assured him, “All the more reason he’s gotta step it up—“

“Shhh she just said something!”

Ambriel had broken the silence. “I find that I’m still curious about what you planned on saying.”

“Yeah, that’s a human thing.” Kevin smirked, more to himself than the angel.

“But I’m not human, but an angel with a human body.”

“True, but I don’t think you guys are all angel anymore.” Ambriel furrowed her brows, and Kevin quickly righted himself, “I mean- don’t get me wrong, you’re still a total badass and everything, but having your own body has got to affect you somehow.”

Ambriel looked away, as if genuinely pondering the concept. “… Perhaps. It’s an interesting notion, to be sure.”

“Yeah.”

Dean stayed silent, more riveted by the tension in the library than the chemistry between his fictional doctors on _Dr. Sexy M.D._ Kevin continued on, looking Ambriel square on now.

“ _Does_ it affect you?”

“Does what affect me?”

“Having your own body now? Instead of a vessel?”

Ambriel look as if all of the sudden she was very interested in her hands. She twisted her fingers around as if fascinated by the tendons and bones and muscles at their work, a motion Castiel himself used to ground himself in his own new body. “It’s difficult to say,” She began, “It feels… not comfortable, but almost… invisible. With Liz, my previous vessel, it felt almost like a completion of my essence. She was my perfect vessel, but still a vessel and she deserved to have a life of her own. This new body, it doesn’t feel like anything, it just… is.”

“In a good way?”

“I’m still pondering that myself. I’ll be sure to let you know when I figure it all out, so to speak.”

“Make sure you do.”

A few beats passed. Castiel’s mind wandered, wondering if there was sufficient bread enough to make a sandwich in the kitchen. And turkey. The lettuce had only been a _little_ wilted yesterday—

Kevin’s voice, soft this time, brought them both out of their thoughts.

“Ambriel?”

“Yes?”

“My eyes are crossing and I can’t stare at this anymore. Wanna go for a walk?”

“What’s our destination?”

“No destination. I could show you around town, take a look at the river…”

“Is this going to lead to copulation?”

“WHAT? No- I mean—jeez. It doesn’t have to lead to anything… unless you want it to.”

“I think I’d like that very much, Kevin.”

The whole exchange was so quick, and Dean and Cas stood frozen in the doorway, jerking back to life only when Kevin and Ambriel headed towards the doorway they were shrouded in. They sprinted to the kitchen and attempted to act natural. The prophet and the angel gave them funny looks when they passed by before Kevin threw a quick “We’ll be back later!” over his shoulder. The heavy hatch door slammed shut, and Dean doubled over in laugher. Castiel rolled his eyes and tried to decipher what Dean was saying through the wheezing and shout-laugher coming from his friend.

“The funny thing is,” he wiped tears from his eyes, “—I know how he feels.”

* * *

 

It was a unusually warm Wednesday in late September that found Dean and Castiel haggardly tailing Sam, who was out for a run.  Dean’s shorts were definitely starting to chafe, and Castiel’s t-shirt was soaked through with sweat as their second hand tennis shoes slapped drunkenly against the pavement.  At the close of the fifth mile, Cas gave up, pausing on the roadside to draw wheezing breaths, hands braced against his sweat-slicked thighs.  Dean watched Sam round a bend, just a merrily bobbing speck in the distance, before turning back for his former angel, his body practically crying out in relief as he slowed to a shaky walk. 

“I think it’s safe to say,” Castiel puffed out as Dean approached, flicking his shirt away from his damp skin, “That Sam is fully recovered.”

“I think I have to agree,” Dean admitted, crouching beside Cas with a wince as his muscles protested, “You okay?”

Castiel nodded, straightening to push the dark straggles of hair back from his forehead, leaving the tousled mess even more gravity-defiant than usual.

“I just needed a minute,” Cas confirmed, offering Dean a hand up.

“You and me both,” Dean agreed, “What do you say we head home, get out of these nerdy shorts and get up to some heavy petting in the shower?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

 

“I’ve been looking through our archives here,” Sam was wrapping up, “And it looks like the first component is in a maritime museum on Lake Champlain.”

“This is it, Castiel,” Ambriel declared, “Our chance to save all our brothers and sisters!  We could reopen Heaven!”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, a grin spreading over his full lips, “We should depart as soon as possible.”

Dean tried to smile along with Castiel.  Really, he tried, but it was like dragging the Impala out of a mud soaked ditch.  Impossible.  Castiel was leaving again.  Dean looked at Sam and Kevin in confusion, watching their mouths moving animatedly but not hearing the sounds coming out.  Didn’t they get it?  Kevin had spent the last month hanging on Ambriel’s every word, and Dean had seen Sam and Castiel huddled over more than one ancient text in the library, geeking out over some old piece of knowledge.  Maybe they were too caught up in the relief of making progress.  Maybe they didn’t realize that this meant Castiel was going back on the road, and maybe eventually back to Heaven. 

Only Crowley, semi-unwelcome as usual, was looking at Dean, knowing laughter in his beady little eyes as he perched against the doorway.  Dean glared at the half-demon, but Crowley only rolled his eyes.

“Castiel,” Crowley called, interrupting the excited conversation that Dean had barely heard any of, “I think you and your lumberjack need to have a word.  He seems confused.”  Everyone paused with the shuffling of tablet notes and Dean caught Sam looking at him quizzically before Castiel started talking, still caught up in the enthusiasm of Kevin’s translating breakthrough.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel exclaimed, grabbing Dean’s hand and leading him away from the map covered table, “We can worry about strategy on the road.  First we need to get ready.”

“Hang on,” Dean urged as Castiel practically dragged him back to their room, “Cas, slow down-“Give me a minute to wrap my head around this, Dean thought to himself.  Give me a minute to say goodbye this time.  Castiel was moving through the room with a soldier’s efficiency, digging two canvas bags out of the closet and tossing them at the foot of the bed as he moved on to the dresser.  Dean eyed the two bags in uncertainty.  Was one of those for Ambriel?  She really didn’t have that much stuff.

 “You should get packed,” Castiel was saying, “So we can leave first thing in the morning.”

“What?”  Dean was having a hard time decoding here.  He was still working on a plan to get Castiel to wait for a few days before he left.  Why did he need to pack anything?

“You need to put your kit together,” Castiel enunciated clearly, “So we can head for New York before the weather gets too bad.”

“We?”  Dean was experiencing a strange tremor in his hands. 

“Yes, you and I,” Castiel continued, grabbing a stack of t-shirts out of one of their shared drawers, “Do you want to drive or should I do a check on the Cavalier?”

“I’m coming  _with_  you?” 

Castiel must have finally registered the confusion in Dean’s voice because he paused in his rummaging, eyes wide as he turned to really look at Dean since they’d left the war room. 

“You didn’t listen to a thing Sam said,” Castiel guessed, mouth wry as he closed the space between them.

Dean was trying to cling to his last shreds of composure because he was a badass and damn it badasses didn’t  _shake_ , with relief or otherwise.  Nonetheless he allowed Castiel to wrap him in a tight embrace, burying his face in the former angel’s neck as it became apparent that he’d just revealed himself to be a totally vulnerable idiot.  Castiel didn’t seem to upset about it, kissing the blush away from Dean’s cheeks before leaning their foreheads together.

“You thought I was intending to leave you again,” Castiel murmured, newly calloused hands framing Dean’s jaw, “Dean, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” Dean mumbled, loosening his hands where they had bunched in the excess fabric of Castiel’s borrowed shirt, “I shoulda known better.”

“It’s not as if I’ve had a very good record thus far,” Castiel admitted, tracing circles over Dean’s cheekbones.  Dean caught Castiel’s wrist, pressing a kiss to his palm as he gave a stern look that said  _quit blaming yourself._ They’d both pulled each other out of Hell too many times to be holding on to anger now.

“So…” Dean began, looping Castiel’s arms over his shoulders and tugging the angel in close, “You wanna run the plan by me again?”

“You mean for tonight?” Castiel inquired with a quirked brow, “Or were you thinking more long term?”

Dean considered, fingers counting the faint indents of Castiel’s spine under the hem of his shirt.

“Let’s start with the long term,” he decided, “And see how it goes.”

“Alright,” Castiel agreed, “You know about the key Kevin found.”

“Yeah.  Three parts, put ‘em together and unlock Heaven,” Dean said, “I lost you after Ambriel started talking about reopening Heaven and you started talking about hitting the road.”

“I started talking about  _us_ hitting the road,” Castiel corrected, “Sam agreed entirely.  He and Kevin will remain here to continue researching while you and I go to Lake Champlain.” 

“And Ambriel’s just gonna sit pretty?” Dean asked, brow furrowed, “Doesn’t really sound like her.”  Despite their initial butting heads, Dean had to admit the fallen angel was a pretty kick ass chick.  She’d proven invaluable in helping Kevin with his translating, and she’d thrown Dean for a loop when she turned out to be one of the best pool hustlers he had ever trained. 

Castiel shook his head.  “Ambriel is returning to her role as messenger,” he continued, “She’ll take advantage of her teleporting to keep us connected, as well as update Hadarniel and some of the other angels as to our progress.  Honestly I think she’s looking forward to it.”

“That’s good,” Dean mused, eyeing his open duffle bag at the foot of his bed, “So just you and me on the road, huh?”

Castiel nuzzled into Dean’s neck, hands slipping under the hem of his t-shirt to wrap around his back.  “Just you,” he promised, kissing the last inch of Dean’s shoulder, “Me,” another kiss against the bolt of his jaw, “and the vehicle of your choosing.”

Dean caught Castiel’s mouth in a loose kiss as he thought it over, relishing the slight burn of the former angel’s five o’clockshadow.  Castiel’s skin was warm, both from the touch of Dean’s lips and the glow of the bedside lamp that cast a golden halo into the room they had shared since Castiel had returned. 

“If there’s gonna be snow,” he murmured against Castiel’s jaw, “Then we’re not taking the Impala.”

Dean felt Castiel’s grin as he nipped just under Dean’s ear.  “Then I guess I’m driving.”

Just like that Castiel pulled away, leaving a quick slap against Dean’s backside before returning to the drawers he had been rustling through.  Dean blinked as Castiel efficiently tossed clothes and weaponry into their bags.  It wasn’t until Castiel disappeared into the bathroom down the hall that Dean’s brain caught up to the slight sting of Castiel’s hand on his ass and he scampered after the former angel.  If that “driving” line had been a double entendre, Dean couldn’t wait to find out.

 

* * *

 

Dean woke up totally naked, a little sore, and deeply content.  The ghost of Castiel’s touch was still all over him, and Dean breathed deep into his pillow, the angel’s scent warm in his lungs.  They were gonna have to make a drug store run on the way out of town, because Dean had two weeks on the road with Cas and he was planning on a repeat of last night as often as possible.  Dean hummed, and he heard a deep chuckle as the mattress shifted slightly beside him.  He peeked open one eyelid to catch his angel sinking down onto the bed.  Castiel was scribbling something in his journal, tucking the book away quickly once he noticed Dean was watching.  Cas was dressed already, smiling about something secret as he jingled his keys and kissed Dean on the mouth, light and chaste. 

“Get ready,” he ordered, running a hand through Dean’s hair before heading for the door, “I’m gonna warm up the car.  Also, I think Sam’s attempting to make us breakfast, so keep an ear out for the fire alarm.”

Dean stretched as he watched Castiel go, admiring the strong arc of his shoulders and the curve of his butt in the more fitted jeans they had finally gotten for him a few weeks back.  As soon as the former angel was safely out of the room Dean flicked his own journal open to the most recent page to see what Castiel had been writing when he woke up.  A heady, satisfying warmth filled Dean from head to toe as he absorbed the short entry.  It was a promise, an answer to a question that Dean had been waiting to ask for too long now. 

_Don’t be afraid.  I will never leave you again._

Dean showered and dressed himself with a lightness unknown since he’d gone to Hell.  A certainty was approaching, a definite that had long in the coming.  As he stood in the door way of his and Castiel’s shared bedroom, duffle in one hand, journal in the other, Dean saw the rest of his life laid out in front of him, and for the first time he wasn’t scared.  He flipped the journal back open to the most recent page, a slow grin filling out his features as he reread Castiel’s words.  Fearlessly, Dean scratched in a response with a cap-less paper-mate, knowing his angel was most likely waiting for his writing to appear in the journal’s twin.

_I love you.  I can’t wait to tell you in person._

 

 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep on the look out for bonus material and deleted scenes from Talk to Me now that the epilogue is up! Again, thank you so much for reading and feedback is cherished.
> 
> UPDATE: Be sure to check out part 5 of the TTM 'Verse, Talk to Me: the Christmas Special!!!


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